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L  1  B  RARY 

OF  THL 

UNIVERSITY 

or    1  LLl  N015 


V. 


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NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN 


v.\  ^v 


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By  the  same  Author. 
Crown  8vo.,  cloth  extra,  3J.  6d.  each. 

THE     THREE     MISS     KINGS. 

Sixth  Thousand. 

'  A  charming  study  of  character.  The  love  stories  are 
excellent,  and  the  author  is  happy  in  tender  situations.' — 
A  thenteuvi. 

'  A  novel  to  be  bought  and  kept  for  re-reading.  It  is  as 
interesting  as  a  "  detective  "  story,  far  truer  than  the  so- 
called  "realistic"  studies,  and  yet  from  beginning  to  end 
pure  as  the  breath  of  a  flower  garden  in  June.'— British 
IVeekly. 

'  A  pleasanter  tale  has  not  been  told  these  many  days. 
The  picture  of  the  three  maidens  is  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful in  recent  fiction.' — National  Observer. 

A  MARKED  MAN  :  Some  Episodes 

in  his  Life.     Sixth  Thousand. 

'  Ada  Cambridge  gives  us  something  to  think  about  in  her 
book.  Herein  the  book  differs  from  most  novels,  which 
avoid  all  food  for  reflection.' — Atheturuvt. 

'  A  depth  of  feeling,  a  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  and 
an  amount  of  tact  that  one  rarely  finds.  Should  take  a  pro- 
minent place  among  the  novels  of  the  season.'  —^l/oj-w/Hg- 
Post. 

'  Contains  one  of  the  best  written  stories  of  a  misalliance 
that  is  to  be  found  in  modem  fiction.'— /'a//  Mall  Gazette. 


LONDON : 
WM.  HEINEMANN,  21,  BEDFORD  STREET,  W.C. 


Not  All  In  Vain 


A  NO  VEL    ■  ^• 


BY 


ADA   CAMBRIDGE 

author  of 
'a  marked  man,'  'the  three  miss  kings,'  etc. 


/AT  THREE  VOLUMES 
VOL.   L 


LONDON 

WILLIAM     HEINEMANN 
1892 

[All  rights  reserz'td] 


^ 


ra3 


:not  all  in  vaik 


CHAPTER  I. 

Mr.  Dugald  Alexander  had  the  gout  rather 
badly,  as  old  gentlemen  in  Australia  do  some- 
times, though  not  very  often.  In  his  best 
health  he  was  an  unamiable  j^erson,  and 
under  these  circumstances  a  brute  simjjly. 
Younof  Mrs.  Dug-ald,  who  had  her  father 
and  t^yo  girl  friends  staying  with  her,  was 
_  at  her  wits'  end  to  reconcile  her  duties  as 
t^  hostess  and  wife — to  give  her  guests  pleasure, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  spare  annoyance  to 
her  lord,  who  hated  to  see  jDcople  happy. 
Christmas  was  close  at  hand  ;  three  of  her 
four  domestics,  under  the  ])retext  that  they 
couldn't  stand  the  master's  temper,  were 
VOL.  I.  1 


2  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN. 

making  ready  to  depart  that  they  might 
enjoy  the  hoHday  season  as  Austrahan  ser- 
vants, sure  of  a  choice  of  good  places  at 
any  moment,  are  privileged  to  do  ;  and  the 
nominal  mistress  of  the  house  was  terribly 
concerned.  How  to  '  keep '  the  sacred  fes- 
tival herself  with  any  sort  of  decenc}"  she 
was  at  a  loss  to  know. 

'  Do  what  you  like,'  said  Mr.  Alexander, 
as  if  he  really  thought  such  bliss  was  possible. 
'  I  don't  care  a  hang  what  you  do,  as  long 
as  you  don't  bother  me.' 

Mrs.  Alexander  listened  meekl}^  and 
meditated. 

'  I  could  take  them  out  for  picnics,'  she 
suggested,  '  but  for  leaving  you  alone,  dear.' 

'  Pray  don't  stay  in  on  that  account,'  he 
snapped  viciously.  '  I'd  be  only  too  glad  of 
a  little  peace  from  their  everlasting  giggling 
and  cackling.' 

*  We  might  even,'  she  proceeded,  in  a 
pondeiing  tone,  '  take  a  tent  and  camp  over 
Christmas  in  the  ranges,  so  as  to  save  all 
fuss  in  the  house — if  only  you ' 

*  Oh,  pray  leave  me  out  of  the  question. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  3 

/  don't  care.  You  know  I  can't  eat  Christ- 
mas dinners.  Go,  and  welcome,  and  stop 
away  for  a  week — the  longer  the  better,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned.  Leave  me  old  Kate 
and  I  can  do  very  well  without  the  rest  of 
you — very  well  indeed,  I  assure  you.' 

This  was  enough  for  one  day.  Next 
mornintr  Mrs.  Alexander  humbly  asked  if 
she  might  invite  the  bo3\s  down,  in  order  to 
provide  companions  for  the  girls.  The  boys 
were  her  two  step-sons,  both  her  seniors  in 
age^  at  the  present  moment  joint  managers 
of  a  station  of  their  father's  in  the  upper 
Murray  district. 

*  No,'  thundered  the  old  man,  *  you  maj^n't. 
I  won't  have  my  property  left  to  go  to  the 
dogs.  And  I  won't  have  the  boys  thrown 
at  the  heads  of  girls  without  a  penny.' 

*  Nell  is  the  only  one  without  a  i^enny, 
Dugald,  and  she  and  Hugh  are  perfectly  de- 
voted ;  you  might  have  seen  that  the  other 
night.  When  he  played  his  violin — cater- 
wauling, you  called  it,  and  made  him 'stop  in 
the  middle — the  tears  were  in  her  e3^es. 
She  said  she  had  never  heard  anvthincf  so 


4  NOT   ALL   IN   VAIN\ 

beautiful.       Polly  will  have   fifty  thousand 
pounds,  at  least.      Father  says  so.' 

*  Well,  you  may  ask  one  of  them.  Jock's 
as  good  as  engaged — and  made  a  sensible 
choice,  for  a  wonder — so  you'd  better  have 
Forbes.  And  get  Hugh  for  the  other  girl, 
if  she's  so  fond  of  him.  He  can  make  a 
fool  of  himself,  if  he  likes  ;  that's  his  own 
concern,  not  mine.      But — here — Agnes  !' 

She  was  slipping  from  the  room,  but  re- 
turned hastily. 

'  Yes,  Dugald  ?' 

'  You  mind  you  sort  'em  right,  now.  I'll 
have  no  son  of  mine  entangling  himself  with 
paupers — remember  that.  You  make  Forbes 
keep  with  Polly.' 

'  Oh,  that  won't  be  difficult,'  she  laughed, 
delighted  with  her  prospective  liberty  and 
fun.  *  They  are  old  admirers.  When  she 
stayed  with  the  Andersons  in  the  winter 
there  were  great  flirtations  —  so  Jock 
says.' 

The  old  man  sneered  and  grunted,  but 
with  less  than  his  usual  ferocity.  His  wife 
glided  away  on  tip-toe  and  sought  her  young 


NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN'.  & 

friends,  to  whom  she  poured  out  her  plans 
for  Christmas  from  a  full  heart. 

'  We'll  get  a  tent,  and  we'll  pack  it  in  the 
station  waggon,  with  some  mattresses  and 
blankets  and  some  cooking  things,  and  plenty 
of  provisions — all  we  can  want  for  three  or 
four  days  ;  some  of  our  food  must  be  cold, 
but  a  good  deal  we  can  cook  in  camp.  You 
girls  can  take  3'our  sketching  things,  and 
perhaps  a  book  or  two  ;  the  men  will  have 
their  guns,  and  Hugh  must  bring  his  violin. 
And  we'll  go  to  the  Eagle's  Nest  and  the 
Silver  Waterfall  and  the  Black  Tarn — any- 
where we  like,'  said  the  poor  little  woman, 
in  a  voice  that  fluttered  with  o-irhsh  ecstasv 
at  the  idea  of  such  sweet  independence. 

Stealthily  they  set  about  their  prepara- 
tions behind  the  ogre's  back.  Hugh  Lloyd- 
Price,  a  near  connection  of  the  family,  was 
almost  on  the  spot,  and  Forbes  came  down 
from  Wandaroo  as  fast  as  Cobb  and  Co. 
could  bring  him  ;  both  young  men  being 
charmed  to  seize  the  golden  o])})ortunity 
vouchsafed  to  them.  The  weather — matter 
of  first  importance — was  all  that  could  be 


6  NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN". 

desired ;  settled  summer  days,  hot  and 
brifjht,  but  without  north  winds  and  sultri- 
ness,  and  nights  of  beauty  such  as  people 
who  slee])  in  their  rooms  with  blinds  down 
all  the  year  round  have  no  idea  of.  Con- 
trary to  reasonable  expectation,  the  24th  of 
December  dawned,  and  nothing  had  happened 
to  blight  the  enterprise,  which  had  seemed  a 
thing  too  good,  under  the  ciicumstances,  to 
come  true. 

The  girls  got  up  early  to  gather  fruit  and 
vegetables,  and  the  waggon  was  ready  to 
start  by  nine  o'clock.  The  hampers  were 
bountifully  stored  with  all  the  good  things 
proper  to  the  season,  elaborately  packed, 
with  wet  cloths  to  keep  them  cool.  The 
turkey,  stored  away  in  a  nest  of  white  nap- 
kins by  itself,  was  ready  cooked,  glazed  and 
garnished  ;  the  beef  was  also  cold,  and  the 
lamb  and  the  chickens,  and  various  other 
savoury  meats.  It  could  not  be  helped. 
But  the  pudding  was  carried  in  a  bag — of 
course,  to  have  its  final  boiling  in  the  gipsy 
pot  ;  and  there  were  all  the  materials  for 
making  the  sauce.      It  was  intended,  more- 


NOT    ALL    IX    VA[X.  7 

over,  to  supplement  the  mince-pies  with 
many  httle  impromptu  sweets  and  rehshes — 
omelettes,  anchovy  toasts,  and  so  on,  not  to 
speak  of  the  wild  game  that  was  to  be 
broiled  and  stewed  when  the  men  had  shot 
it.  A  very  good  time  was  planned  for,  if 
only — if  only  the  Fates  would  be  moderately 
kind  ! 

They  were.  Mr,  Alexander  witnessed 
the  departure  of  the  cavalcade,  and  did 
nothing  worse  than  call  his  wife  and  guests  a 
pack  of  fools  for  choosing  to  roast  them- 
selves alive  when  they  had  a  cool  house  to 
sit  in,  and  prophesy  sunstroke  and  other 
disasters  which  alarmed  nobody. 

*  Good-bye,  dear,'  said  his  wife,  standing  on 
tip-toe  to  kiss  his  purple  face.  *  I  do  hope 
you  won't  be  lonely  !' 

'  Never  mind  about  me,'  he  replied  with 
a  magnanimous  air.  '  So  long  as  you  enjoy 
yourself,  my  loneliness  is  of  no  consequence. 
If  I  do  get  worse  and  die  before  you  come 
back,  it  won't  matter  much.  Nobody  would 
be  heart-broken.' 

'  Oh,    don't   say    that,    Dugald  !     Would 


8  NOT   ALL   IN    VAIN. 

jou — would  you  like  me  to  stay  with 
you?' 

*  What  !  and  send  these  boys  and  girls 
into  the  bush  by  themselves  ?  Come,  don't 
pretend,  Agnes.  You  know  it's  too  late  to 
say  that  now.  Here,  take  her,  Baird,  and 
look  after  her  as  well  as  you  can,  I  daresay 
you  have  more  influence  over  her  than  I 
have.' 

'  I'll  take  care  of  her,'  said  the  other  old 
gentleman  cheerfully,  as  he  helped  his 
daughter  to  her  seat  at  his  side  ;  and  he 
suo'Ofested  that  thev  had  better  be  settinsf 
off  before  the  day  grew  hotter.  He  was  an 
active  little  gray  man,  an  early  colonist  and 
a  consummate  bushman,  to  whom  had  been 
given  charge  of  the  commissariat  transport 
which  was  to  lead  the  wav.  The  buoi-o-v 
with  the  young  people  was  to  follow  in  an 
hour's  time.  Agnes,  for  various  amiable 
reasons,  had  chosen  to  accompany  her  father  ; 
and  it  was  recognised  that  the  fate  of  the 
expedition  trembled  in  the  balance  as  long 
as  she  was  within  her  husband's  reach. 
Once  she  was  away  safely,  the  buggy  might 


NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN.  9 

take  its  time.      An  eag-er  assent  rose  from 
the  veranda. 

*  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  We  are  too  late,  as  it  is. 
Go  on,  Mr.  Baircl.  We  shall  catch  you  up 
in  no  time.' 

Mr.  Baircl.  went  on  with  alacrity,  and  as 
much  speed  as  a  pair  oF  powerful  plough 
horses  could  compass  with  such  a  heavy  load 
behind  them — not  only  tent  and  bedding 
and  provision  ham^oers,  but  changes  of 
clothes  for  all,  the  men's  guns,  Lloyd-Price's 
violin,  the  male  and  female  overcoats,  and  a 
miscellaneous  assortment  of  odds  and  ends. 
In  ten  minutes  they  were  out  of  sight  of 
the  house — one  of  the  largest  and  hand- 
somest of  the  bush  houses  of  the  district — 
and  the  secret  anxiety  which  had  held  father 
and  dauij^hter  nuite  was  at  an  end. 

*  Kind,  good  fellow,'  ejaculated  Mr.  Baird, 
by  way  of  opening  conversation,  *  Rough 
on  the  outside,  but  the  best  heart  in  the 
world.  I  nuist  take  care  of  you,  Agnes, 
or  I  don't  know  M'hat  he  won't  do  to 
me.' 

Mr.   Baird  had  been  the  author    of   his 


10  NOT    ALL   IX   VAIX. 

daughter's  marriage,  and  therefore  insisted 
that  it  was  a  success. 

In  defiance  of  his  vicarious  sohcitude,  she 
threw  back  her  gossamer  sun-veil  and 
drank  the  hot  air  and  hght  through  parted 
hps  and  Avinking  eyes  with  joyous  satisfac- 
tion, 

'  Oh,  how  sweet  it  is  to  be  out  of  doors 
with  nobody  but  you,  father  !'  she  sighed. 

'  Yes,  my  dear,  yes  ;  it's  very  nice.  It's 
very  kind  of  you  to  say  so.  One  gets  tired 
of  being  much  in  the  house,  even  vv'hen  it's 
such  a  house  as  yours — and  few  vounof 
women  have  such  a  beautifal  home.  Whv, 
Avhen  your  mother  married  me  she  had 
nothing  but  a  slab  hut  to  live  in,  and  it 
hadn't  even  v\'indows  to  it — only  slits,  just 
wide  enough  for  a  gun-barrel.  How  would 
you  have  liked  that  ?' 

Agnes  had  answered  that  question  so 
often  that  she  didn't  think  it  worth  while  to 
answer  again  that  she  would  probably  have 
loved  it. 

*  Indeed,  she  didn't  have  that  all  at  once,' 
the  old  man  proceeded,  repeating  an  oft-told 


NOT   ALL   IN    VAIN.  11 

tale  *  Only  the  tilt  of  a  dray  to  start  with, 
and  then  a  brush-gunyali,  and  then  a  sod- 
hut  ;  for  we  had  to  build  yards  before  we 
could  build  a  house.  A  house,  I  call  it ! — 
only  four  rooms  and  a  lean-to  kitchen.  We 
thought  it  a  line  place  when  we  did  get  it, 
but  I  should  like  to  see  what  you  young- 
folks  would  say  to  a  husband  w^ho  had 
nothing  better  to  give  you.' 

Agnes  was  silent. 

*  I  built  it  with  my  own  hands — I,  and  a 
couple  of  men  I  had.  We  felled  the  timber, 
and  the  bullocks  hauled  it  in  ;  and  we  hewed 
out  the  frame  and  mortised  it  together,  and 
split  and  trimmed  the  slabs,  and  flattened 
the  sheets  of  bark ;  and  v/lien  it  was  all  up, 
she  lined  the  walls  with  calico  and  made  arm- 
chairs out  of  empty  barrels,  and  tables  and 
cupboards  out  of  packing  cases.  That  was 
all  the  drawing-room  furniture  f^he  had — no 
satin  curtains  and  grand  pianos  and  tine 
things  such  as  you  are  used  to.  And,  until 
we  got  a  married  couple  just  before  j'ou 
were  born,  not  a  white  woman's  face  did  she 
see — not  a    soul   of    her   own   sex   had   she 


12  NOT    ALL    IN'    VAIX. 

to  speak  to.  How'd  you  like  that  sort  of 
thing,  eh  V 

'  She  had  you,'  said  Agnes. 

'  Oh,  indeed  she  hadn't !  Whole  days 
together,  when  I  was  away  s])litting  and 
fencing,  she  M^as  at  the  hut,  with  perhaps 
only  Jimmy  ;  and  never  knew  the  minute 
that  she  mio-htn't  be  surrounded  bv  blacks. 
Not  that  she  cared  for  blacks  any  more  than 
she  did  for  snakes  and  centipedes.  She  kept 
fowls  and  pigs,  and  had  her  dairy  to  attend 
to  ;  and  she  could  shoot  as  straio-ht  as  anv 
man  of  us.  Did  I  never  tell  you  how  the 
blacks  attacked  the  place  one  night  when 
she  and  your  aunt  Bobby  were  alone,  with 
only  a  stockman  and  his  wife  and  the  boy, 
and  we  got  back  only  just  in  time  to  save 
them  ?' 

Oh,  Heavens  !  Had  he  not  told  her, 
and  others  in  her  hearing,  a  hundred  times  ? 
She  looked  over  her  shoulder,  and  wondered 
anxiously  whether  the  buggy  had  started 
yet. 

The  buggy  liad  started,  and  was  rapidly 
drawing  near  to  them.      Mr.  Alexander  had 


NOT   ALL   IN   VAIN.  13 

superintended  its  departure,  and  '  sorted ' 
the  young  couples  properly,  so  that  Polly 
Hawker  sat  on  the  front  seat  and  Nell 
Cunningham  behind.  Polly  was  a  gay  and 
pretty  and  fascinating  young  woman,  with 
no  brains  to  speak  of ;  and  Nell  was  a  shy 
and  humble-minded  creature,  who  wrote 
poetry  in  secret,  and  thought  her  junior  host 
(seen  but  yesterda}''  for  the  first  time)  was 
the  nearest  approach  to  her  ideal  man  of 
anybody  she  had  ever  known.  Forbes  was 
certainly  an  elegant  figure  amongst  the 
3'oung  bushmen  of  the  day,  and  besides  his 
handsome  face  and  form,  he  had  a  distinctly 
cultivated  mind.  As  he  drove  his  spanking 
team  over  the  noiseless  dust,  he  recited  the 
two  first  cantos  of  *  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  ' 
without  a  mistake — which  was  regarded  as 
a  clear  proof  of  it.  When  he  got  as  far  as 
*  The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue,'  they 
Avere  within  speech  of  the  waggon. 

Hugh  Lloyd-Price,  though  not  a  prctt}' 
man,  was  a  fine  burly,  bearded  fellow,  who 
made  fun  of  high-flown  sentiments,  while 
cherishing  the  tenderest  respect  for  them  in 


14  NOT   ALL   IN    VAIX. 

his  secret  heart.  He  should  have  fallen  in 
love  with  Miss  Cunningham,  who  would 
have  suited  him  admirably  :  and  he  had 
made  a  very  good  beginning,  as  has  been 
pointed  out,  with  his  violin  and  her  sym- 
pathetic tears.  But  when  Forbes  came 
down  and  began  visibly  to  interest  himself 
in  the  only  stranger  of  the  party — when,  in 
declaiming  such  couplets  as 

'  Her  goodness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye,' 

he  permitted  himself  to  flash  a  glance  at  her 
over  his  shoulder — and  she  responded  with 
a  blush — then  Hugh  and  Polly,  with  a 
mutual  desire  for  retaliation,  turned  then- 
attention  to  each  other.  Miss  Hawker  did 
not  boast  unduly  when  she  declared  she 
could  make  any  man  fall  in  love  with  her,  if 
she  really  set  herself  to  it  ;  and  Hugh,  with 
his  soft  heart  and  confiding  nature,  was  the 
least  likely  of  men  to  resist  her  will.  So, 
with  the  object  of  making  an  old  lover  jeal- 
ous, she  laid  her  snares  for  a  new  one  ;  and 
he,  failing    a    more    promising   attachment, 


NOT   ALL   IN    VAIN.  15 

walked  into  them  readily.      Thus    arc    our 
most  careful  plans  frustrated  in  this  world. 

The  party  plodded  on  steadily  all  the 
morning,  sometimes  keepino-  together  and 
shouting  small  jokes  from  one  vehicle  to 
another,  and  sometimes  parting  to  let  the 
buggy  horses  have  a  spin,  and  at  noon  they 
reached  the  lower  spurs  of  the  ranges  whose 
wild  recesses  they  were  going  to  explore. 
Here  a  halt  was  called  on  the  margin  of  a 
creek  ;  the  horses  were  taken  out,  a  corner 
of  the  waggon  was  unpacked,  and  lunch  was 
spread  under  the  trees.  Lloyd-Price  made 
a  fire,  and  Polly  roasted  i)otatoes,  while 
Nell  set  the  table  on  the  grass,  and  Forbes 
cooled  beer  and  wine  bottles  in  the  running 
stream.  Addressing  themselves  to  their 
first  camp  meal,  they  ate  ravenously  ;  then 
they  sprawled  upon  the  ground — the  men 
smoking  in  voluptuous  peace ;  then  they 
had  tea.  After  that  they  harnessed  up  and 
ascended  further  into  the  mountains,  to  the 
Black  Tarn,  a  little  water  hole  in  a  hollow 
of  the  hillside,  which  marked  the  limit  of 
their  first  dav's  iournev.      In  that  sheltered 


16  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN. 

nook  they  set  up  their  tent,  washed,  brushed, 
and  dined  elaborately — not  quite  so  elabo- 
rately as  they  intended  to  do  next  day,  but 
very  nearly  ;  and  then  the  twilight  gathered 
about  them — a  little  chilly  although  it  was 
Christmas  eve — and  they  replenished  the 
tea-kettle  fire,  and  sat  round  it  and  told  each 
other  tales.  '^ 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  blue  of  the  ranofes  turned  to  black. 
Those  waves  upon  waves  of  primeval  gum- 
forest,  soft  as  sapphire  velvet  in  the  sun- 
tinted  dusk,  showed  but  their  delicate  upjDer 
edges  against  the  sky — a  sky  that  was 
shininsf  still,  thouo-h  it  was  full  nio-ht. 
Plovers  cried  plaintively  from  the  valleys 
below,  and  curlews  called  from  the  far-away 
hills,  which  repeated  each  long-drawn  wail  in 
echoes  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  distant 
world.  The  frogs  filled  the  air  with  that 
shrilling  bubble  of  sound  which  is  the  note  of 
woodland  solitude  ;  and  small  rustlings  and 
scratchings  amongst  the  trees  betrayed  the 
neighbourhood  of  curious  opossums,  peeping 
down  upon  the  camp-fire  and  the  pilgrims — 
that  little  orb  of  light  and  life,  detached  and 

j^      VOL.  T.  2 


]8  NOT   ALL   IN   VAIN. 

alone  in  the  illimitable  silence  and  darkness, 
suspended  in  the  infinite  like  a  new  star. 

'  This,'  said  Lloyd-Price  lazily,  '  is  quite  a 
novelty  in  Christmas  eves,  ain't  it  ?' 

*  Ay.  But  I  remember  an  even  stranger 
one,'  said  Mr.  Baird,  whose  chance  had  come, 
*  It  was  the  first  Christmas  eve  that  Agnes 
ever  saw,  and  it  was  as  near  as  possible 
being  her  last.  Ever  heard  about  that. 
Miss  Cunningham  ?' 

Miss  Cunningham  was  the  one  member  of 
the  party  who  could  say  honestly  that  she 
never  had. 

'  It  was  when  Agnes  was  only  a  few  weeks 
old.  Just  before  she  was  born  I  had  got  uj) 
a  married  couple,  you  must  know,  and  a 
sister  of  my  wife's,  whom  she  wanted  to  be 
with  her,  had  come  up  along  with  them. 
We  had  no  public  convej-ances  in  those  days 
— a  mail  once  a  month,  perhaps,  and  dray- 
loads  of  stores  two  or  three  times  a  year — so 
of  course  we  were  olad«  of  anv  escort  we 
could  a:et,  as  I  couldn't  leave  home  mvself : 
and  two  of  our  neighbours  who  happened  to 
be  travelling  up  at  the  time  offered  to  bring 


NOT   ALL   IN    VAIN.  19 

them.  Old  Bob  Russell  was  one,  Hugh — 
young'  Bob  he  was  then — and  the  other  was 
Leigh  Pomeroy,  who  afterwards  married  my 
sister-in-law.' 

*  The  same  sister-in-law  ?'  inquired  Hugh, 
tinkling  a  string  of  his  violin.  Forbes  knew 
the  story  by  heart,  and  entertained  himself 
with  a  rapt  contemplation  of  Nell  Cunning- 
ham's fire-lii>hted  face. 

*  The  same,'  said  Mr.  Baird.  '  Roberta 
Haywood — we  called  her  Bobby — there  was 
nothing  else  we  could  call  her.  Well,  you 
know,  they  were  both  gentlemen,  as  we  all 
were  in  those  days — as  it  was  before  the  gold 
— and  we  knew  them  intimately;  they  lived 
but  thirty  miles  away  from  us,  and  often 
drop])ed  in  for  a  game  of  whist.  But  they 
were  young  fellows,  like  myself,  and  perhaps 
it  was  not  quite  the  correct  thing  to  put 
Bobby  in  their  charge  ;  though  there  was 
the  married  couple,  and  it  was  the  only  ar- 
rangement possible  under  the  circumstances. 
In  those  primitive  times  we  couldn't  afford 
to  be  fastidious  about  a[)pearances,  and 
Bobby  was  always  staid  and  sensible.     How- 


20  NOT    ALL   IN    VATN. 

eyqr,  they  set  her  down  at  the  door  and  went 
straight  on  to  their  own  place,  without  stop- 
ping for  bite  or  sup,  and  we  soon  found  that 
Bobby  wasn't  at  all  pleased  about  her  jour- 
ney, and  had  a  particular  grudge  against 
Pomeroy.  I  couldn't  believe  that  he  had 
misbehaved  himself,  and  when  I  questioned 
the  married  couple,  they  said  that  both  the 
young  gentlemen  had  treated  Miss  Haywood 
like  a  queen — Mr.  Pomeroy  particularly. 
They  used  to  keep  watches  all  night,  turn 
and  turn  about,  with  loaded  rifles,  lest  the 
blacks  should  come  near  when  she  was 
asleep.' 

'  How  long  were  they  travelling  through 
the  wilderness  in  a  dray  .together,  w^ith  no 
chaperon  but  a  married  couple  ?'  asked 
Mr.  Lloyd-Price,  who  had  ceased  thrum - 
mino\ 

*  Two  or  three  weeks,  I  suppose.  Of 
course,  it  migJtt  have  been  awkward  for  a 
young  girl,  and  she  thrust  upon  their 
hospitality,  as  it  were.' 

The  young  men  groaned  unctuously  in 
concert. 


NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN.  21 

'  Lord  !  If  such  luck  would  only  come 
to  me  !' 

*  Ah  !     Those  were  the  jolly  days  !' 

The  girls  laughed  sympathetically,  and 
Mr.  Baird  turned  on  them  with  an  air  of 
elderly  reproof. 

'  Be  thankful  you  don't  live  in  such  days,' 
said  he  ;  '  that  you  are  so  much  better  off 
than  we  were ' 

'  But  we  are  not !'  they  cried,  interrupting 
him. 

'  That  you  can  sleep  in  peace  of  a  night 
in  your  comfortable  homes,  with  all  the 
luxuries  of  civilization  round  you ' 

'  We'd  rather  be  uncivilized  and  make 
journeys  in  a  bullock  -  dray,'  said  Polly 
audaciously.  Her  eyes  danced  in  the  flame 
of  the  camp-fire,  and  Hugh  drew  them  on 
himself  with  a  twang  of  a  fiddle-string. 

'  Wc  wouldn't  quarrel,  would  we  ?'  he 
breathed  in  a  feelinti'  undertone. 

The  little  flirt  replied  that  she  didn't  know 
about  that,  and  tossed  a  wisp  of  grass  into 
his  face  when  no  one  was  looking.  Forbes, 
whose  mood  grew  more  and  more   poetical, 


22  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

gazed  with  ardour  into  Nell's  downcast 
countenance,  and  was  pleased  when  he  pre- 
sently drove  her  to  hide  her  embarrassment 
with  a  handkerchief. 

*  What  a  heavenly  night  it  is  !'  he  sighed 
into  her  ear. 

'  It  is/  she  sighed  back,  and  timidh'  put 
down  her  handkerchief  to  look  at  the  stars. 
Then  the}^  looked  at  each  other.  Forbes 
edged  a  little  closer,  laying  his  head  on  the 
hem  of  her  spreading  gown.  Agnes  was 
rapt  in  a  vision  of  those  old  days,  when 
women  were  free  to  enjoy  better  things  than 
satin  curtains  and  grand  pianos  ;  and  Mr. 
Baird's  narrative  proceeded. 

'  We  sheared  just  after  Bobby  came — a 
sort  of  shearing — it  would  have  amused  you 
young  fellows,  with  your  fine  sheds  and 
wash-places  ;  and  the  blacks  took  that  op- 
portunity to  harry  the  out-stations  more 
than  usual.  They  not  only  scattered  the 
flocks  when  they  were  feeding  about  in  the 
daytime,  but  they  attacked  the  brushwood 
yards  at  night,  and  speared  the  shepherds  ; 
and,  as  you  may  suppose,  we  had  none  to 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  23 

s))ai'e.  I  said  to  my  poor  wife  that  I'd  tried 
kindness  and  lettino-  them  alone  lono'  enouofh, 
and  that  I'd  stand  no  more  nonsense  ;  that 
I'd  send  for  a  detachment  of  native  police 
and  give  them  a  lesson  they  wouldn't  forget 
in  a  hurr3\  She  was  in  a  great  fright, 
fearing  they  would  retaliate,  but  Bobby  said 
we  should  be  ashamed  of  ourselves  for  not 
having  done  it  before — letting  poor  fellows 
be  murdered  in  our  service  without  lifting  a 
hand  to  protect  them  ;  and  I  quite  agreed 
with  her.  So,  the  minute  shearing  was  over, 
the  black  troopers  came,  apparently  delighted 
with  the  job,  and  we  got  Russell  and  Poni- 
eroy,  and  every  man  and  gun  within  fifty 
miles  of  us,  and  started  off.  We  were  out 
three  days ' 

'  I'd  like  to  have  been  with  you,'  said 
Lloyd-Price,  breaking  a  pause. 

Polly's  eyes  applauded  the  aspiration. 
Nell  shivered. 

*  No,  no,  my  boy,'  said  Mr.  Baird,  in  his 
reproving  tone.  *  Don't  wish  that.  We 
were  light-hearted  enough  about  it  then, 
but  I  don't  like  to  remember  it  now.      Be 


24  NOT   ALL   IN   VAIN. 

thankful  you  live  in  times  when  there's  no 
necessity  to  take  a  brother's  life  to  preserve 
your  own.' 

'  Call  that  black  beast  my  brother  !  It's 
lucky  we  live  in  times  when  duelling  is  out 
of  fashion.' 

The  old  man  hurried  over  the  brilliant 
episode,  on  which  a  professional  story-teller 
would  have  dwelt  at  lenofth. 

*  Then  we  came  home,  and  all  was  quiet 
for  a  lonof  while.  Ao-nes  was  born,  and  mv 
poor  Janet  was  as  happy  as  the  day  was 
long  ;  though  what  you  girls  would  think 
of  having  to — however,  it  was  the  same 
with  most  settlers'  wives  in  those  days ; 
and  a  special  providence  seemed  to  watch 
over  them,  for  accidents  seldom  happened. 
Pomeroy  came  while  she  was  still  in  her 
room,  to  ask  how  she  was  ;  and  of  course 
we  expected  him  to  stay,  and  she  told  me 
to  give  him  my  bed  and  take  the  sofa  ;  but 
Bobby  said  she  hoped  I  should  do  no  such 
thing,  as  it  was  not  proper  to  have  gentle- 
men visitors  at  such  a  time.  We  scouted 
this  ridiculous  idea,  which  wasn't  according 


NOT   ALL   IX    VAIN.  25 

to  our  code  of  etiquette,  you  may  be  sure, 
and  Pomeroy  was  my  best  friend,  besides  ; 
but,  all  the  same,  that  minx  wouldn't  go 
near  him — stuck  at  Janet's  bedside  with 
the  baby  on  her  knee,  thougli  he  was 
watching  the  door  and  listening  for  her  all 
the  time  ;  of  course  it  was  for  her,  as  he 
knew  he  couldn't  see  Janet.  And  all  at 
once  he  jumped  up  and  said  he  must  go, 
that  Russell  was  expecting  him  back — some 
rubbish  of  an  excuse  he  made  ;  but  it  was 
plain  he  felt  he  was  not  wanted,  and  I 
couldn't  persuade  him  to  stay.  It  was  the 
hottest  hour  of  the  day,  and  I  said  to 
Bobby  that  he  was  in  for  a  sunstroke,  if 
the  blacks  didn't  pot  him,  before  he  got 
home.  She  just  got  up  and  marched  out 
of  the  room,  as  if  I  had  insulted  her. 
When  she  came  back  she  looked  as  if  she 
had  been  crying,  l3ut  neither  of  us  dared 
tax  her  with  it. 

*  Well,  in  a  week  or  two  it  was  Christmas, 
and  my  wife  was  all  anxiety  to  get  Pomeroy 
back  again.  I  said  I  wouldn't  be  a  party 
to  brinsrino'  him  over  if  he  was  to  be  treated 


26  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

to  the  cold  shoulder,  but  she  said  it  would 
be  all  right,  and  insisted  on  having  him. 
Nothing  was  said  to  Bobby  that  I  could 
find  out,  but  she  must  have  known  what 
Avas  in  the  wind,  though  she  pretended  she 
didn't,  looking  as  meek  and  innocent  as  a 
lamb.  Pomeroy  and  Russell  were  to  be 
asked  for  a  week — Christmas  week — and  I 
was  to  ride  over  and  fetch  them. 

*  Needs  must  when  one's  wife  drives.  I 
started  off  before  daylight  in  the  morning, 
found  our  young  neighbours  only  too  ready 
to  accept  her  invitation,  and  the  three  of  us 
got  back  just  after  nightfall.  My  word  ! 
if  we  didn't  ride  that  nio-ht  !  And  if  we 
had  been  five  minutes  later — five  minutes  in 
a  thirty -mile  ride — why ' 

A  dramatic  pause.  The  shadowy  figures 
round  the  camp-fire  drew  closer  to  each 
other.  Mrs.  Alexander,  sitting  apart,  with 
hands  clasped  round  her  knees,  laughed 
carelessly.  She  thought  it  wouldn't  have 
mattered  very  much  as  far  as  she  was 
concerned. 

*  I  had  left  one  man  at  home — the  other 


NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN.  27 

was  taking  out  the  shepherd's  rations— and 
i\  black  boy  we  called  Jimmy,  from  a  distant 
tribe.  ThouQ^h  we  thouorht  we  had  settled 
our  own  blacks,  and  had  no  more  fear  of 
them,  I  told  these  two  to  keep  a  good  look- 
out and  not  stray  from  the  homestead  during 
my  absence  ;  and  I  also  left  my  dog  Watch, 
who  well  deserved  his  name,  and  was  the 
best  guardian  of  the  lot.  Well,  the  girls 
had  been  cooking  and  preparing  all  day,  and 
were  sitting  down  in  their  best  bib^  and 
tuckers,  with  the  supper  spread  and  the 
lamps  lighted  and  everything  ready,  waiting 
for  us  to  come  home,  when  this  dog,  snoozing 
on  the  kano-aroo  skins  that  Janet  had  made 
into  a  hearthrug,  just  opened  his  eyes  and 
growled  a  little — a  sort  of  rumble  inside  of 
him,  without  lifting  his  head.  No  one  else 
could  hear  a  sound,  and  the  evening  was  as 
still  as  possible.  Both  front  and  back  doors, 
which  faced  each  other,  stood  open  to  let 
what  air  there  was  blow  throuo-h.  Janet 
was  rocking  the  baby's  cradle  with  her  foot, 
and  Bobby  was  knitting  a  shawl  for  it — 
pretending   to   be   indifferent  to  Pomeroy's 


28  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN. 

coming,  Janet  said.  All  at  once  Watch 
began  to  draw  in  his  breath  and  snarl,  and 
then  he  bounded  off  the  hearthrug  and 
down  the  back  passage  into  the  yard, 
barking  with  all  his  might.  Bobby  thought 
it  was  because  he  heard  us  cominsf,  and 
went  on  knittinsf  as  if  that  wasn't  worth 
disturbing  herself  for  ;  but  my  wife  knew 
the  old  dog  didn't  greet  his  master  so,  and 
it  came  over  her  in  a  moment  what  it  was. 
She  just  said  ''  Blacks  !"  and  snatched  up 
the  baby  ;  and  there  they  were,  yelling  all 
round  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Murphy,  our 
woman  servant,  runninsf  in  screamino'  from 
the  kitchen,  and  Pat,  her  husband,  bolt- 
ing the  door  behind  her  just  as  the  first 
fliglit  of  spears  rattled  on  the  planks  and 
slabs.' 

Lloyd-Price  sat  up  restlessly — he  again 
wanted  to  have  been  there  ;  he  forgot  to 
look  at  Polly,  who  comforted  herself  with 
the  reflection  that  Miss  Roberta  Haywood 
was  now  an  old  woman  of  forty-five,  at 
least.  Nell  Cunningham  shivered  with 
dread  of  what  was  coming  next,  and  Forbes 


NOT   ALL   IN    VAIN.  29 

drew  a  little  cloak  over  her  shoulders  with 
linorerinof  tenderness  of  touch. 

'  You  can't/  said  Mr.  Baird  impressively, 
*  imagine  a  much  worse  fix  for  lone  women 
to  be  in,  and  3^ou  may  all  be  truly  thankful 
that  no  such  dangers  surround  you  in  your 
comfortable  homes.' 

This  was  meant  for  Agnes,  who  positively 
yearned  for  them — for  anything  to  break 
the  monotony  of  material  well-being  which 
seemed  to  stifle  her,  the  more  dangerous 
the  better. 

*  My  poor  wife,  who  used  to  be  so  bold 
and  fearless,  lost  her  head  completely  ;  she 
said  it  was  the  baby  that  made  her  a 
coward,  but  Bobby  was  as  good  as  a  guard 
of  soldiers — a  miracle  of  a  woman.  It  was 
she  who  saved  them  all.  She  flew  to  the 
front,  which  was  the  sitting-room  door, 
shut,  barred  and  barricaded  it  with  the 
furniture,  and  how  she  moved  those  heavy 
things  in  the  time  I  don't  know  ;  then  she 
ran  to  the  ])ack,  where  Pat  helped  her  to 
build  a  similar  fortification  ;  and  as  these 
were  the  only  outlets  of  the  main  building, 


30  NOT    ALL    JX    VAIX. 

the  windows  being  merely  loopholes  in  the 
wall,  this  gave  them  a  minute's  breathing 
time  while  she  got  out  the  fire-arms — a 
couple  of  guns  and  a  pistol  that  were  kept 
in  a  cupboard  in  my  room.  She  made  Pat 
load  them,  and  put  a  rifle  into  Janet's  hand, 
having  bundled  the  baby  and  Mrs.  ^lurphy 
into  a  corner  together  ;  and  she  told  my 
wife  to  fire  at  blacks  if  she  could,  and  if  she 
couldn't  to  fire  at  nothing,  so  as  to  frighten 
them  and  make  us  hear  if  possible.  Then 
she  blew  out  all  the  lights  but  one,  and 
went  to  a  window-hole  herself,  and  blazed 
away  ;  the  barrel  she  stuck  out  got  wedged 
with  a  bone  spearhead,  and  she  killed  the 
man  behind  it — she  killed  five  of  them 
altogether.  They  were  swarming  all  round 
the  place,  trying  to  get  in,  thrusting  their 
spears  through  the  chinks  ;  some  of  them 
were  ransacking  the  kitchen,  and  others 
trying  to  break  into  the  locked  store  ;  there 
must  have  been  scores — hundreds — and  no 
one  to  defend  my  wife  and  child  but  thai 
girl,  she  and  Pat,  who  was  all  the  time 
calling  on  tlic  Virgin  and  saints  to  hel[)  him. 


NOT    ALL    Ii;    VAIN".  31 

instead  of  giving  his  whole  powers  to  help 
himself,  cas  she  did.  No  one  knew  where 
Jih  iny  hid  himself,  and  poor  Watch  yelled 
with  the  savages  outside  until  they  killed 
him.  Oh,  she  was  a  fine  creature,  was 
Bobby  Haywood,  with  all  her  pride  and 
perverseness.' 

*  I  kiss  her  feet,'  said  Lloyd-Price,  with 
some  emotion,  kneeling  U2:)on  the  grass.  Ho 
knelt  because  it  appeared  to  him  unseemly 
to  sprawl  on  his  back  in  the  presence  of  so 
noble  a  woman,  thouQfh  she  fissured  onlv  in 
an  old  man's  tale, 

*  Kiss  mine,'  said  Polly  pertly. 

He  promptly  kissed  hers,  and  she  took 
the  opportunity  to  toss  his  cap  into  the  fire, 
whence  it  was  rescued  (to  Agnes's  satisfac- 
tion) by  Nell.  The  rescuer  burnt  her  hand 
in  the  act,  and  Forbes  tied  it  up  in  a  silk 
handkerchief 

'  Well,  this  went  on,'  said  Mr.  Baird, 
pursuing  his  story,  '  for  some  time — I  dare- 
say onl}''  for  a  few  minutes,  but  it  seemed 
like  hours  to  the  poor  things  inside  ;  and 
then  those  devils  put  a  fire-stick  to  the  roof 


32  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIX. 

We  were  just  riding  over  a  rise  a  couple 
of  miles  away,  and  we  saw  the  light  flicker 
up,  and  then  we  saw  the  black  figures  caper- 
ing about.  My  God  !  if  we  didn't  swear  !  if 
we  didn't  ride  !  Ponieroy  simply  shrieked 
when  he  realized  what  was  happening,  and 
raced  away  from  me  and  Russell,  though  we 
were  digging  in  our  spurs  and  lifting  our 
poor  tired  brutes  along  at  a  rate  that  killed 
one  of  them — my  poor  Tomboy,  who  had 
done  the  double  journey  that  day.  We  didn't 
think  we  could  possibly  be  in  time,  however 
fast  we  rode,  and  but  for  that  girl  we 
shouldn't  have  been.  But  she  was  equal  to 
the  occasion,  even  then.  As  soon  as  she 
smelt  the  smoke  and  saw  the  blaze,  she  told 
Pat  to  tear  down  the  barricade  in  front. 
"  We  must  fight  them  outside,"  said  she, 
"  and  do  the  best  we  can  until  the  srentlemcn 
come  home — they  can't  be  long  now."  And 
while  he  got  the  door  open,  she  charged  the 
guns  ;  and  then  she  planted  herself  beside 
him  on  the  threshold,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
and  fired  at  the  now  distinct  bodies  of  the 
black  fellows,   as   cool  as  any  old  soldier  at 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  33 

bay  in  a  besieged  fortress.  When  Ponicroy 
got  near  enough  to  see  her,  there  she  stood 
in  the  Hght  of  the  burning  roof,  and  those 
she  was  protecting  behind  her ;  and  the 
spears  were  slanting  across  her  white  dress 
and  over  her  head — one  of  them  stuck  into 
a  pie  on  the  supper- table — and  there  was  a 
red  patch  on  her  sleeve,  growing  bigger  and 
bigger,  and  drops  falling  from  her  elbow  on 
to  her  skirt ' 

Miss  Cunningham  gasped,  and  Forbes 
took  her  hand  to  steady  her,  unobserved  by 
his  stepmother. 

*  When  /  got  near  enough  to  see  her, 
half  a  minute  afterwards — and  those  demons 
melted  away  like  smoke  as  soon  as  we  ap- 
peared— she  was  lying  in  a  dead  fliint  in 
Pomeroy's  arms,  and  he  was  kissing  her  with 
all  his  miijht  and  main.  I  thousfht  how 
she'd  sfive  it  to  him  afterwards  for  makino- 
so  free  with  her  when  she  couldn't  help  her- 
self, but  as  soon  as  she  came  round  so  as  to 
understand  things-,  she  just  put  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  kissed  liim  back  again, 
iis  bold  as  you  please.' 

VOL.    I.  3 


34  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

*  Bravo  !'  shouted  Hugh.  '  Let's  drink 
her  health,  and  long  life  to  her,  wherever  she 
may  be  !' 

'  She's  in  England  now,'  said  Mr.  Baird, 
*  the  mother  of  grown-up  children.  Her 
husband  came  in  for  family  property  a  few 
years  after  their  marriage,  and  they  went 
home.' 

'  If  ever  I  go  home,  I  shall  make  a  point 
of  looking  up  my  great-aunt,'  said  Forbes, 
'  and  telling  her  how  her  memory  was 
honoured  on  this  auspicious  anniver- 
sary. I'm  going  to  put  on  the  kettle  for 
whisky  -  toddy,  Agnes.  We  can't  drink 
her  health  without  something  to  drink  it 
in.' 

And  the  fire  was  replenished  and  light 
refreshments  brought  out,  while  the  old  man 
wound  up  the  oft-told  tale. 

'  She  wasn't  hurt,  to  speak  of  Pomeroy 
dressed  her  arm  and  bound  it  up.  That 
young  imp,  Jimm}^,  came  out  from  his  hiding- 
place,  and  scrambled  up  the  roof  and  put  out 
the  fire,  Pat  handing  the  buckets  of  water 
up  to  him.      Even  the  supper  wasn't  sjooiled. 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN.  35 

And  we  bad  a  delightful  Christmas,  after  all. 
It  was  no  festive  season  for  the  poor  blacks 
— the  troopers'  carbines  were  busy  amongst 
them  for  a  lonsf  while — but  it  was  a  hifjli 
old  time  for  us,  especially  for  Pomeroy.' 
Mr.  Baird  had  to  admit  that  they  were 
good  times,  with  all  their  hardships  and 
dangers. 

'  Not  better  than  this,'  said  Forbes,  with 
his  head  on  Nell  Cunningham's  gown. 

*No,  indeed!'  echoed  Lloyd-Price,  touching 
his  violin  with  fino^ers  that  were  feelinsf  the 
inspiration  of  whisky-toddy. 

'  Sing  something,'  said  Polly,  when  silence 
fell. 

They  sang  a  few  old  songs,  separately  and 
togethei-,  to  the  great  concern  of  the  opos- 
sums and  numerous  birds  that  had  long 
settled  themselves  for  tlie  night  ;  it  was  a 
weird  thing  to  hear  the  airy  echo  of  their 
voices  and  the  violin  beating  about  the  ranges 
ever  so  far  away,  and  the  sense  of  utter 
solitariness  that  it  gave  them  quenched 
their  music  by  degrees.  Agnes  nodded  in 
her    detached   nook  ;    ^Ir.    Baird,   with   his 


36  NOT   ALL   IN    VAIN. 

back  to  a  tree,  began  to  breathe  audibly  ;  the 
solemnity  of  the  starry  night  became  more 
and  more  impressive. 

'  Hark !'  whispered  Nell  suddenly.    '  What's 
that  ?' 

Only  a  curlew  wailing  like  a  lost  spirit 
amongst  the  infinite  worlds.  Xever  was  a 
bird-note  more  tragically  wild  and  sad,  more 
affecting  to  the  imagination  of  the  listener, 
who  hears  it  in  the  lonely  Australian  bush, 
in  the  loneliest  hours,  across  what  seems  an 
immeasurable  distance  of  unpeopled  space. 
In  the  hushed  intervals  the  yet  ghostlier  and 
more  far-away  plaint  of  a  mo])oke  was  heard 
— a  mere  shadow  of  a  sound,  though  clear  as 
a  tolled  bell  ;  and  the  nightingale,  with  its 
charming  versatility,  is  a  homely  and  barn- 
door sort  of  creature  (to  the  ear)  compared 
with  that  bird  of  the  southern  night,  that 
has  but  its  one  pathetic  note.  And  then 
again  the  curlew  cried,  and  all  the  echoes 
cried  in  answer,  as  in  uttermost  desolation 
and  dos])air. 

'  That's  my  idea  of  the  banshee,'  said 
Lloyd-Price,  listening. 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  37 

'  Oh,  don't  !'  implored  Polly,  with  a  shud- 
der. 

*  Girls,'  said  Agnes,  rousing  up,  '  it  feels 
horribly  late.      Let  us  go  to  bed.' 

They  went,  drawing  the  curtain  of  the 
tent  behind  them.  The  men  rolled  themselves 
in  their  blankets,  and  lay  down  on  the  warm, 
dry  grass  by  the  smouldering  fire. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Morning,  even  in  these  latitudes,  comes 
earlier  than  people  who  never  sleep  out  of 
their  beds  suppose  ;  the  break  of  dawn  upon 
Australian  hills  is  a  particularly  choice 
spectacle.  Probably  there  is  no  air  in  the 
world  so  delicately  pure  and  fine  as  that 
which  takes  the  light  and  the  long  shadows 
when  our  forest  solitudes  are  slowly  turning 
to  the  sun  ;  and  probably  that  is  the  reason 
Avhy  the  bush  is  so  beautiful  in  the  changes 
of  the  day,  with  so  little  colour  and  variety 
of  its  own.  The  yellow  stars  were  pale,  but 
not  yet  quenched,  and  tJie  transparent  sky 
showing  merely  an  opaline  background  to 
the  velvety  profile  of  the  eastern  ranges, 
when  the  men  rose  out  of  their  blankets, 
dipped  stealthily  in  the  tarn,  and  made  off 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIX.  31) 

with  their  guns  to  reconnoitre  a  distant 
swamp  before  the  wild-fowl  were  on  the 
wing.  But  when  the  women  got  up,  not 
having  heard  the  departure  of  their  com- 
panions, the  sun,  just  lifting  to  the  horizon, 
was  filling  the  tent  door  and  their  dazzled 
eyes  with  light,  revealing  one  after  another 
little  ripples  and  feathers  of  rose-coloured 
cloud,  where  no  clouds  had  been,  flaming 
to  the  zenith  like  the  tongues  of  celestial 
tire  in  sacred  fable.  And  it  was  still  not 
five  o'clock. 

Nell  Cunningham  walked  out  upon  a  ledge 
of  granite  overlooking  the  valley  from  which 
they  had  climbed  yesterday,  and  shaded  her 
eyes  with  her  hand.  Soon  Agnes  followed, 
and  put  an  arm  round  the  girl's  waist. 
*  Isn't  it  lovely  ?'  they  said  one  to  the  other 
basking  in  the  sea-wide  prospect  and  the 
indescribable  atmosphere ;  and  Nell  won- 
dered casually  where  the  men  had  gone  to. 
There  was  a  fire  of  beautiful  red  embers, 
that  looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  burning 
all  night,  and  the  kettle  was  filled,  and  a 
bucket  of  water  standing  at  the  tent  door  ; 


40  KOT    ALL   IN    VAIX. 

but  the  men  themselves  were  required  to 
make  this  dawn-scene  perfect,  and  Agnes 
wondered  which  of  them  was  most  needed 
in  the  present  case. 

'  We  had  a  charminsf  evenino- '  she  re- 
marked  tentatively. 

*  Yes,'  sighed  Nell. 

'  How  nicely  Hugh  plays  the  violin  !  and 
one  would  never  think  it  to  look  at  him.' 

'  He  does,  indeed.  "  Alas,  Those  Chimes  I" 
has  been  in  my  ears  all  night.' 

Mrs.  Alexander  was  satisfied,  and  turned 
her  attention  to  domestic  affairs.  Poll}', 
having  packed  up  her  kit  and  mattress  in- 
side the  tent,  came  bustling  out,  rolling  up 
the  sleeves  of  her  cotton  gown. 

'  What !  Forbes  not  here  ?'  she  cried, 
looking  round.  '  I  thought  they  were  re- 
markably quiet.  I  supi)ose  they  have 
modestly  withdrawn  in  order  not  to  em- 
barrass us  at  our  morning  toilets.  Give 
me  one  of  the  chickens,  Agnes.  That  fire 
is  really  too  lovely  !  cook  something  I  must. 
Let  us  have  a  nice  broil  ready  by  the  time 
they  come  back.' 


NOT    ALL    IX    VALV.  41 

Thinking  how  charming  Polly  would  look 
in  the  eyes  of  Forbes  when  devoting  herself 
to  the  preparation  of  his  breakfast,  Agnes 
hastened  to  get  out  a  fowl,  and  the  box  con- 
taining their  cooking  condiments,  while  the 
heiress  tied  herself  into  a  big  apron,  raked 
the  red  coals  and  buttered  the  gridiron. 
But  it  was  now  getting  on  for  six  o'clock, 
and  before  the  broil  was  on  the  fire,  two  of 
the  men,  Mr.  Baird  and  Forbes,  returned 
gameless,  and  hastened  to  make  themselves 
useful.  Agnes  smiled  with  pleasure  to  see 
her  step-son  cast  himself  down  at  Polly's 
side.  She  was  kneeling  on  the  grass, 
vigorously  hacking  at  the  chicken  to  get 
out  the  breast-bone,  and  he  took  the  knife 
from  her  hand,  not  without  a  tussle,  and 
finished  the  dissecting  process,  while  she 
flourished  the  pejDper-box  under  his  nose. 
They  were  full  of  absurd  antics.  He  wanted 
very  much  to  take  charge  of  the  gridiron, 
and  she  wouldn't  let  him  ;  he  told  her  she 
would  ruin  her  complexion  and  also  set  fire 
to  her  petticoats,  and  she  rewarded  his 
benevolent  importunities  by  boxing  his  cars. 


42  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX. 

This  was  not  Agnes's  idea  of  making  love, 
for  she  had  her  ideas,  poor  little  soul  !  though 
she  was  married  to  an  ogre  ;  but,  still,  it 
seemed  to  her  the  style  that  would  be  char- 
acteristic of  such  a  gay  and  cheerful  pair. 

Then  Hugh  Lloyd-Price  came  into  camp, 
not  on  foot,  but  riding  a  perspiring  steed  ; 
and  he  bore  at  arms'  length  a  little  billy  of 
new  milk,  which  he  must  have  brought  a 
considerable  distance,  and  which,  on  dis- 
mounting, he  proudly  ofiered  to  Nell.  She 
took  it  with  one  of  her  pretty  smiles — Agnes 
fancied  with  a  blush — and  thanked  him  and 
praised  him  for  his  tlioughtfulness,  then 
handed  the  can  to  her  hostess. 

Agnes  waved  it  back  benevolently. 

'  You  and  Hugh  can  niiike  the  coffee, 
dear,'  she  said,  'and  I  will  lay  the  cloth.' 

And  she  left  her  friend  to  display  her 
domestic  talents  to  the  potential  husband, 
who  watched  the  process  of  the  coffee-making 
in  thoupiitful  silence — listeninsf  to  the  non- 
sense  between  Forbes  and  Poll}'-  all  the 
time. 

It  was  a  merry  and  a  hungry  breakfast- 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  43 

party  which  sat  and  ate  until  the  sun  was 
high  and  hot.  Then  it  washed  its  plates 
and  dishes,  packed  everything  up,  struck 
camp  and  started  for  the  Silver  Waterfoll,  a 
romantic  glen  with  a  little  cascade  in  it, 
some  four  or  five  miles  distant.  It  was  not 
only  the  prettiest  spot  in  the  neighbourhood, 
but  it  was  the  highest  point  that  the  waggon 
could  reach  ;  and  there  Mrs.  Alexander  in- 
tended that  Christmas  proper  should  be 
spent — the  turkey  and  plum-pudding  eaten. 
All  the  morning  the  pilgrims  climbed  and 
climbed,  four  out  of  the  six  on  foot  the  most 
of  the  way,  to  ease  the  horses  up  tlie  rough 
and  heavy  track.  Agnes  walked  wdth  Nell, 
and  Forbes  with  Polly,  so  everything  was 
as  it  should  be.  Hugh,  with  the  buggy, 
reached  the  waterfall  first,  and  returned  to 
help  the  waggon  over  a  steep  pinch  that  the 
plough-horses  alone  were  not  equal  to  ;  and, 
with  one  thing  and  another,  the  little  party, 
reeking  and  panting,  did  not  cast  anchor  in 
their  haven  until  long  after  the  hour  ap- 
pointed for  that  stage  of  the  proceedings. 
It  was  a  grateful  resting-place  when  they 


44  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX. 

did  get  to  it — peaceful  and  still,  in  the 
shadow  of  rocks  and  trees,  with  the  cool 
sound  of  water  dripping  from  ledge  to  ledge 
and  gurgling  away  under  the  ferns.  There 
was  a  snug  corner  for  the  tent,  and  a  sweet 
little  shady  lawn  whereon  to  lay  the  cloth 
for  dinner  ;  there  were  plenty  of  dry  sticks 
about  for  the  fire,  and  boulders  of  all  sizes 
for  making  a  stove  ;  in  short,  it  was  the 
very  place  for  the  purpose.  As  the  pedes- 
trians came  in  out  of  the  scorching  glare, 
red-faced,  tousled,  breathless,  with  hats  on 
the  backs  of  their  heads  and  pocket-handker- 
chiefs round  their  throats,  looking  as  happy 
as  possible,  but  declaring  themselves  utterly 
dead-beat,  they  exclaimed  with  one  accord 
that  it  was  the  very,  very  place,  and  flung 
themselves  in  ecstatic  satisfaction  upon  the 
ofround. 

There  was  no  thought  of  unpacking  or 
settling  anything  until  everj^body  had  had  a 
rest.  Lemonade  was  got  out  for  the  ladies 
and  whisky  and  soda  for  the  men  ;  and  they 
took  a  snack  of  cold  f^wl  and  ham,  and  did 
not  trouble  to  spread  tlie  cloth.      After  this 


NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN^.  45 

the  men  lay  prone  on  the  grass  and  smoked  ; 
they  said  they  would  get  up  presently  and 
set  the  tent  in  its  place,  shell  the  peas,  scrape 
the  horse-radish,  and  do  whatever  else  was 
required  of  them.  Mrs.  Alexander  answered 
that  they  might  go  to  sleep,  if  they  liked, 
until  five  o'clock,  and  sat  down  with  her 
girls  on  either  side  of  her  to  discuss  the 
order  of  the  cookings  for  the  Christmas 
feast,  which  was  to  be  celebrated  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening. 

Only  Mr.  Baird  went  to  sleep.  Forbes 
and  Hugh  lay  for  some  time  regarding  the 
girls  from  under  their  hat-brims  with  much 
persistence,  and  Polly  tickled  their  noses 
with  a  blade  of  grass.  The  inattention  of 
her  companions  lulled  Agnes  into  a  reverie 
that  presently  took  the  form  of  dreams  ;  and, 
freed  from  supervision,  the  young  men  and 
maids  pursued  their  own  devices  in  a  manner 
suitable  to  the  occasion  and  the  laziest  hours 
of  a  summer  day.  They  plucked  dry  stalks 
with  succulent  root-ends,  and  chewed  them  ; 
they  poked  spiders  with  sticks  ;  they  hunted 
lizards  through  the  warm   stones  ;  tliey   in- 


46  KOT    ALL   IN    VAIN. 

terested  themselves  in  the  manoeuvres  of 
ants.  There  was  an  ant  that  Nell  Cunning- 
ham, nov/  a  buxom  matron  in  cap  and  spec- 
tacles, will  cherish  in  the  secret  chamber  of 
memory  to  her  dying  day.  Forbes,  lying 
beside  her,  sucked  a  brittle  thread  of  grass 
and  dropped  it  betv.^een  them,  and  that  ant 
came  up  and  laid  hold  of  it  with  an  instant 
determination  to  carry  it  off.  The  creature 
was  about  half  an  inch  in  length,  and  the 
stalk  was  fully  four  inches,  and  any  ant  with 
a  grain  of  sense  must  have  seen  that  the 
task  was  hopeless  ;  yet  for  two  hours  did 
this  preposterous  insect  strain  and  struggle, 
with  the  pluck  of  the  hero  who  never  knows 
when  he  is  beaten  ;  and  no  one  saw  the 
end  of  it  ;  years  afterwards  Nell  wondered 
whether  he  was  going  on  still.  Forbes 
took  no  notice  of  the  oscillations  of  the 
stick,  which  he  could  see  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye,  and  which  remained  to  the  last 
in  the  place  where  he  had  laid  it,  until  he 
wanted  to  draw  Nell's  attention  to  himself ; 
then  he  said,  *  Look  at  this,'  and  when  she 
looked  her  head  nearly  touched  his,  which 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN.  47 

was  an  attitude  to   be  preserved  as  long  as 
possible. 

If  that  ant  had  any  share  of  the  sagaci- 
ties attriljuted  to  his  tribe,  it  could  only 
have  been  exercised  to  propitiate  the 
omnipotent  powers  with  boot-heels  ;  other- 
wise he  was  a  born  idiot.  There  were 
plenty  of  little  stalks  lying  round  which  he 
could  have  taken  for  whatever  purpose  he 
had  in  view,  but  he  would  not  look  at  them, 
even  when  they  were  thrust  into  his  jaws  ; 
the  one  impossible  stick  he  would  have,  and 
no  other.  If  Forbes  frightened  him  away 
from  it,  he  rushed  back  after  a  few  wild 
circlings,  and  fell  upon  it  with  redoubled 
energy  ;  if  Nell  took  it  from  the  ground,  he 
piteously  felt  about  in  the  air  and  almost 
seemed  to  cry  for  it  till  she  gave  it  back 
again  ;  when  they  left  him  undisturbed  to 
his  work,  he  bent  himself  to  it  with  a  con- 
centrated passion  or  determination  that 
seemed  to  say  he  would  conquer  or  die.  It 
was  really  pathetic.  He  caught  hold  of 
the  stick  at  one  end  and  pulled  it  first 
forwards  and  then  backwards,  as  if  he  would 


48  NOT   ALL    INT    VAIX, 

burst  with  the  strain  ;  then  tugged  at  the 
other  end  in  the  same  way  ;  then  tried  to 
hoist  it  in  the  middle.  Findinof  these 
efforts  vain,  he  proceeded  to  bite  it  into 
joints — this  took  a  long  time — so  that  the 
thing  would  bend  and  turn,  which  he  seemed 
to  consider  an  advantage.  He  grasped  one 
joint  after  another  from  the  outside,  and, 
backing  off  from  it,  tried  to  drag  it  that 
way  ;  then  took  the  inside  angle  and  pushed 
forward  like  a  bridled  horse  ;  and  it  was  all 
in  vain.  Other  ants  came  along,  running 
over  him  and  his  stick,  but  none  of  them 
attempted  to  interfere,  and  he  asked  for  no 
assistance  ;  it  was  his  own  affair  entirely. 
'And  we've  always  been  told  that  ants  are 
so  clever,'  Forbes  murmured  into  his  com- 
panion's ear. 

'  It's  better  than  being  clever,  to  be  so 
nobly  foolish,'  she  murmured  back. 

*  Do  you  think  so  ?  Do  you  really  think 
so  ?' 

*  Those  practical  little  fellows,  who  are 
evidently  ants  of  the  world,  with  a  single 
eye    to    the    main   clianeo,    how   sordid    and 


NOT   ALL   IN   VAIN".  49 

commonplace  they  are,  compared  with  this 
little  piece  of  absurdity  who  wants  he  knows 
not  what — something  better  than  mere  daily 
bread,  something  grander  than  earth  can 
give  him  !' 

*  Yes,  yes,  you  are  right.  I  often  feel 
that  there  is  something — something  worth 
all  the  money  and  material  prosperity, 
something  without  which  nothing  else 
satisfies ' 

Etc,  etc.,  etc. 

Agnes  was  roused  from  her  siesta  by  a 
hand  on  her  arm,  and  opened  her  eyes  u])on 
a  blush-dyed  face. 

'  Agnes,'  whispered  Nell,  '  my  liair  is 
coming  down  !' 

*  Well,  my  dear,'  sleepily,  '  put  it  up 
again.' 

Polly  would  have  thought  nothing  of  her 
hair  coming  down.  She  would  have  stuck 
all  her  hair-pins  into  her  mouth,  and  shaken 
out  and  rcplaited  her  glossy  braids,  without 
feeling  any  need  of  a  tent  to  hide  in.  But 
Miss  Cunningham  was  almost  morl)idly 
modest  in  these  tliines. 

VOL.  I.  4 


50  NOT    ALL   IX    VAIN. 

'  Come  into  the  bush,  Agnes/  she  urged. 
*  Say  we  are  going  to  gather  flowers  for  the 
dinner- table.     We  ought  to  get  some  flowers.' 

To  please  her,  Polly  was  called  upon,  and 
they  went  into  the  bush  ;  and  there  she  did 
her  hair.  There,  indeed,  all  three  did  their 
hair,  taking  what  appeared  to  be  their  only 
chance  of  making  any  toilet  for  dinner. 
They  went  a  considerable  distance  before 
they  began,  to  preclude  the  danger  of 
unseemly  discovery  ;  and  when  they  had 
done,  they  went  still  further,  with  the  object 
of  finding  suitable  decorations  for  the 
Christmas  table.  High  up  as  they  were, 
they  were  still  in  the  region  of  thick  forest ; 
no  bump  of  locality  was  possessed  by  any 
one  of  them,  and  a  more  confusinof  countrv 
did  not  exist.  The  natural  consequence 
ensued — they  lost  themselves.  And  they 
were  more  than  an  hour  away  before  they 
found  it  out ;  for  after  the}'  had  been  flitting 
hither  and  thither  like  butterflies,  from  bush 
to  bush,  gradually  putting  their  respective 
bouquets  together,  they  turned  to  go  back 
to  camp,  and  contentedly  trudged  a  mile  or 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  51 

more  under  the  impression  that  they  were 
making  their  way  thither,  when  in  fact  they 
were  heading  in  a  totally  opposite  direction. 
Nell  hummed  the  air  that  Hugh  had  set 
running  in  her  head,  as  she  tripped  along  : 

'  Still  he  slumbers,  how  serenely  ! 
Not  a  sigh  disturbs  his  breast. 
Oh,  that  angels  now  might  waft  him 
To  the  mansions  of  the  blest !' 

*  He  probably  does,'  said  Polly  impu- 
dently. *  You  can  be  his  angel  and  waft 
him  presently.'  And  she,  too,  lifted  up  her 
voice  and  sang  with  energy,  to  a  tune  of  her 
own,  a  quotation  from  one  of  Forbes'  stock 
recitations  : 

'  "  At  length,  with  Ellen  in  a  grove 

He  seemed  to  walk,  and  speak  of  love."  ' 

'  I  wish,'  said  Nell,  crimsoning,  'that  you 
wouldn't  be  so  ridiculous.' 

*  Then  I  woii't,'  returned  Polly,  who  was 
amiability  itself  But  she  continued  to  sing 
from  *  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  which  argued 
a  gratifying  sympathy  with  Forbes'  literary 
tastes  : 

Library 

UNIVERSITY  OF  IlLiNO'^ 


52  KOT    ALL   IN    VAIN. 

'  "  My  hope,  my  heaven,  my  trust  must  be. 
My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee." 

Though  your  name  isn't  Ellen,  Agnes,  it's 
you  I  mean.' 

'Are  you  following  me  ?'  said  Agnes,  who 
had  been  rather  lost  in  her  own  musings. 

*  Well,  naturally,  since  neither  Xell  nor  I 

have  been  here  before,  and  she  is  so  obviously 

preoccupied. 

'  "  "Weird  women  we  !     By  dale  and  down 
We  dwell,  afar  from  tower  and  town." 

And  she's  far  and  away  the  weirdest.      But, 

I  say,  Agnes ' 

They  came  suddenly  to  an  opening  in  the 
scrub,  where  the  ground  fell  away  at  their 
feet,  displaying  a  wide  vallej^  with  hills  on 
the  other  side  of  it,  which  they  did  not  seem 
to  recognise.  The  shadows  in  that  valley 
were  taking  a  deep  indigo-bluc  tint,  rich  as 
landscape  colour  could  never  be  in  a  less 
exquisite  air  ;  and  the  light  on  those  oppo- 
site hills,  changing  their  garment  of  gray 
gum-trees  to  a  robe  softer  than  the  pile  of 
curling  plusli,  was  making  the  blunt  peaks 
flame  like  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration,  in 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  53 

hues  of  vermilion  and  violet  that  no  words 
could  describe.  It  was  beautiful,  but  it  was 
not  what  they  were  looking  for. 

'  Where  are  we  ?'  cried  Agnes,  with  a 
bewildered  stare. 

'  I  don't  know,'  said  Polly  ;  '  but  I 
thought  of  course  that  you  did.' 

*  I  haven't  an  idea  !     Have  you,  Nell  ?' 

*  Xo,  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  we  ought  to 
be  facing  the  sun,  instead  of  having  it  at  our 
backs.' 

*  Of  course  we  ought.  How  stupid  ! 
And  none  of  us  with  a  watch  on  !  I 
wonder  what  the  time  is  ?' 

*A  good  deal  later  than  it  should  be,' 
said  Polly.  '  I  hope  they  have  got  the 
potatoes  and  peas  ready,  or  we  shall  be 
having  our  dinner  in  the  dark.  Come,  let's 
hurry  !  Where,  in  the  name  of  fortune, 
are  we?' 

The}"  turned  and  turned  again,  got  con- 
fused and  agitated,  and  thought  they  had 
Jbetter  cooee  to  their  men.  Lifting  their 
voices,  separately  and  together,  and  listening 
with  beating  hearts  for  the  response,  the}' 


54  NOT    ALL   IX    VAIN. 

realized  that  they  were  indeed  lost — so  far 
from  their  protectors  that  the  loudest  of 
those  shrill,  small  cries  could  not  reach 
them.  The  sun  was  settins:  with  the 
abnormal  haste  that  he  always  displays  on 
these  occasions,  and  panic,  fear  assailed  the 
wanderers. 

'  What  shall  we  do  V  they  wailed  to  one 
another. 

Heaven  only  knows  where  they  wandered 
in  their  struggle  to  get  home.  East,  west, 
north  and  south,  they  ran  up  and  down, 
calling,  sobbing,  shouting  till  their  throats 
were  sore.  They  could  have  borne  up,  as 
they  told  one  another,  if  it  had  not 'been  for 
the  Christmas  dinner ;  it  was  the  certain 
prospect  of  its  destruction  and  the  ruin  of 
the  festival  so  elaborately  planned  which 
broke  them  down  and  made  them  childish 
in  their  distress.  The  tliought  of  the 
terrible  fright  their  men  would  be  in  about 
them  was  not  half  so  bitter. 

Night,  unmistakable,  black  night,  came 
on  while  they  were  still  as  lost  as  ever.  In 
the    darkness    they    stumbled    and    bruised 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  55 

themselves  over  sticks  and  stumps  and  the 
outcropping  granite  that,  like  the  debris  of 
ruined  cities,  was  piled  and  strewn  u])  and 
down  the  hillsides,  making  every  promising 
path  impossible.  The  little  night  sounds  of 
the  bush  startled  them  continually  ;  the  fear 
of  snakes  came  upon  them  ;  their  tender 
feet  limped,  and  their  backs  ached  with 
fatigue.  The  calmness  of  despair  was 
settling  upon  their  souls,  when  they  hap- 
pened by  the  blindest  accident  to  strike  the 
track  of  the  waggon  where  it  had  struggled 
along  a  siding,  cutting  up  the  turf — a  siding 
the  steepness  of  which  would  daunt  the 
bush  driver  of  these  days,  accustomed  to 
his  made  roads,  even  in  mountain  wilds. 

The  wanderers  identified  the  spot  and  the 
marks  upon  the  ground,  and  followed  the 
latter — strange  to  say,  in  the  right  and  not 
the  wrong  direction — with  great  difficulty 
(even  having  to  seek  the  aid  of  matches 
from  Hugh's  matchbox,  which  Polly  haj)- 
pened  to  have  in  her  pocket,  which  circum- 
stance Agnes  had  not  the  energy  to  inquire 
into),    but    with    a     determination     not     to 


5C>  NOT    ALL    iN    VAIX. 

swerve  from  it  ;  and  so,  faint  and  footsore, 
they  arrived  at  the  Silver  Waterfall  at 
length,  about  two  hours  after  the  Christmas 
dinner  should  have  been  served. 

Of  course  they  found  the  camp  empty. 
There  were  no  men  there  ;  there  was  no 
dinner,  nor  any  sign  of  one  ;  the  very  fire 
had  died  down  into  a  handful  of  white 
ashes.  The  tent  was  put  up  and  the  mat- 
tresses laid  within  it,  and  the  waggon  was 
half  unpacked.  At  that  stage  everything 
had  been  left,  apparent^,  and  they  well 
knew  for  what  reason.  A  grain  thev  cooeved 
and  called  and  shrieked,  again  without 
hearing  any  sound  in  response ;  and  then 
their  nerves  failed  tliem  altogether,  and 
they  sat  down  on  the  ground  and  cried. 

This  was  only  for  a  minute  or  two. 
Agnes  jjroposed  a  little  refreshment,  and 
they  took  a  crust  and  a  glass  of  wine  apiece, 
and  heartened  themselves  up.  '  They  may 
be  out  after  us  all  night,'  said  Agnes,  *  but 
they  will  come  home  sometime — they  won't 
get  lost.  And  when  they  come,  they  will 
be  as  worn   out  as  we  are.'     So  the}'  made 


NOT   ALL    IX    VAIN'.  57 

the  fire  up  again,  got  a  meal  ready  (which 
did  not  inckide  green  peas  or  sauces),  and 
did  what  they  could  to  make  the  camp 
look  comfortable.  At  short  intervals  the}' 
cooeyed  and  listened,  climbing  the  crags 
around  them  to  do  it,  until  they  saw  by  a 
watch  left  in  a  man's  waistcoat  on  the 
ground  that  it  was  ten  o'clock — clear  now, 
and  the  stars  all  out  ;  and  then  they  nearly 
went  into  hysterics  at  the  sound  of  a  gun 
firing  and  the  faint  volley  of  mountain  echoes 
accompanying  the  report. 

*  Cooee !  Cooce-ec !!  Cooee — ee — ee  ! ! !' 
tlicy  screamed  all  together,  again  and  again, 
and  presently  shouts  answered ;  and  they 
danced  a  wild  jig  in  the  excitement  of 
the  blessed  moment,  tired  as  they  were. 
The  shouts  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
soon  the  young  men,  pufling  like  gram- 
puses, tumbled  into  the  camp,  calling  out 
to  Ao-nes  that  Mr.  Baird  was  not  far  be- 
hind. 

She  allowed  tliem  to  pass  her  with  a 
hurried  word  of  welcome  and  thanksgiving, 
and  went  down  the  liill  to  meet  her  father, 


58  NOT    ALL   IX    VAIX. 

Avhose  old  legs  wei*e  like  to   fail  hiin  after 
his  severe  exertions. 

She  met  him  about  a  hundred  yards 
away,  and  when  he  saw  her  he  broke  into 
querulous  reproaches,  which  quickly  ceased 
when  he  discovered  that  she  was  more 
weary  and  overwrought  than  he.  Then  he 
asked  her  what  he  should  say  to  Dugald, 
when  that  devoted  husband  demanded  an 
account  of  how  she  had  been  taken  care  of ; 
and  then  they  sympathized  together  over 
the  ruin  of  the  Christmas  feast. 

*  We  can  have  no  proper  dinner  now/ 
said  the  poor  little  hostess,  in  a  tone  of 
hopeless  resignation.  '  We  can't  boil  pud- 
dinofs  and  thino-s  at  this  time  of  nioflit,  and 
it's  no  use  half  doing  it.' 

*  Never  mind,'  her  father  consoled  her. 
'  It's  not  the  first  time  that  Christmas 
junketings  have  been  interi'upted,  as  I  was 
tellinof  them  last  niofht.  I  remember  vour 
poor  mother ' 

'  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  if  we  have  turkey 
and  pudding  to-morrow,  it  M'ill  be  all  the 
same,'  Agnes  broke  in.      *  It's  fortunate  the 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIX.  59 

weather  isn't  sultry,  and  the  things  are   all 
keepino^  well,' 

They  climbed  the  last  pinch  arm  in  arm, 
hoisting  each  other  in  turn,  and,  rounding 
a  point  of  rock,  stood  in  the  blackness  of 
its  shadow  on  the  threshold  of  the  camp. 
There  they  paused,  and  Agnes  uttered  a 
moan  of  dismay  and  despair. 

'  This,'  said  she,  when  she  could  speak, 
'  is  the  last  straw.' 

Well  defined  between  the  camp-fire  and 
the  now  palel^^-shining  sky,  two  groups  of 
figures,  each  composed  of  a  young  man  and 
a  young  woman,  disclosed  themselves  t^ 
the  chaperon's  view.  On  the  pole  of  the 
waofSfon  .sat  a  burlv  form  in  its  shirt-sleeves, 
a  form  surmounted  with  a  bushy  beard  and 
downward-slanting  slouch  hat,  which  could 
only  belong  to  Hugh  ;  and  beside  him, 
leaning  upon  him — entirely  blending  with 
him,  indeed — was  Polly.  Yes,  Polly  ;  for 
only  Polly  wore  a  dark  gown — navy-blue 
linen  with  smart  braidings  about  it — and  it 
was  on  a  dark  background  that  Hugh's 
encircling  arm  was  outlined,      (hi  a  granite 


60  KOT    ALL    IX    VAIX, 

boulder  nearer  to  the  fire  squatted  Forbes  ; 
the  red  hght  showed  every  curve  of  his 
slender  figure,  and  every  line  of  his  hand- 
some face,  clean-shaved  but  for  the  carefully 
trimmed  moustache  ;  and  he  had  his  arm 
round  Nell.  Her  face  was  hidden  in  his 
breast,  but  of  course  Agnes  knew  it  must 
be  Nell  because  it  was  not  Polly.  And 
Nell  was  the  eldest  daughter  (out  of  seven) 
of  a  mere  professional  man,  who  had  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  feed  and  clothe  his 
family  from  day  to  day. 

'  What,'  cried  Agnes,  terror-stricken,  'oh, 
what,  trhat  will  his  father  say  to  me  !' 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Doubtless  the  amount  of  happiness  enjoyed 
by  the  httle  party  as  a  whole  was  increased 
largely  when  Hugh  and  Forbes  engaged 
themselves  to  the  wrong  girls,  but  its 
corporate  fun  was  gone.  Supper  by  the 
light  of  the  stars  and  the  camp-fire  was  a 
distressingly  silent  function,  and  the  baiting- 
place  of  wit  was  not  availed  of  as  it  should 
have  been.  Most  of  the  next  day  was 
spent  by  the  affianced  couples  in  getting 
away  from  each  other  and  from  their 
chaperon,  who,  pretending  to  be  absorbed 
in  a  thrilling  novel,  sat  and  sighed  in 
solitude,  or  took  useless  counsel  with  her 
father  as  to  how  Dugald  was  to  be 
approached.  The  belated  Christmas  dinner 
was  excellent,  as   far  as  it  went,  and  '  Alas, 


62  KOT    ALL    IX    VAIX. 

Those  Chimes  !'  and  *  Ahce,  Where  Art 
Thou  ?'  breathed  sweet  enchantment  into 
the  night  that  followed  ;  but,  when  daylight 
came  again,  there  was  a  general  impression 
that  it  was  time  to  return  to  the  world  and 
assume  responsibilities.  Accordingly  the 
horses  were  put  to,  and  the  cavalcade 
descended,  in  half  the  time  it  had  taken  for 
the  ascent,  from  the  delectable  mountains  to 
the  level  of  common  life. 

Lloyd-Price  and  his  fiancee  had  nothing 
to  fear.  He  was  well  off  and  had  no  father, 
and  she  was  well  off  and  had  one  whom  she 
could  twist  round  her  little  finger  ;  but  Forbes 
and  Nell  Cunningham  were  full  of  trepidation 
and  concern.  They  kept  these  feelings  from 
each  other,  but  confided  them  to  Agnes  ;  and 
that  little  woman,  whose  own  apprehensions 
were  so  much  more  serious,  bade  them  with- 
stand to  the  death  whatever  powers  might 
be  arrayed  against  theuL 

'  What  is  money  compared  with  love  ?'  she 
asked  of  her  stej^-son,  whom  she  applauded 
for  breaking  from  the  mercenar}^  traditions 
of  his  house  ;   '  and  what   if   he   docs   make 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN".  63 

him  suffer,'  she  said  to  Nell,  in  the  quiet  of 
the  night,  as  they  lay  in  each  other's  arms, 
lookinof  at  the  stars  throuo-h  a  rift  in  the  tent 
roof ;  '  what  does  anything  matter,  now  that 
you  belong  to  each  other  V  She  might  be 
killed  for  having  allowed  it  to  happen,  but 
with  her  last  breath  she  would  encouraofe 
these  wise  ones  who  had  chosen  the  better 
part,  instead  of  selling  themselves  as  she  had 
done.  This  she  had  determined  as  soon  as 
the  first  shock  was  over. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  dreadful  moment 
when  she  alighted  at  her  house-door  and  old 
Kate  informed  her  that  Mr.  Alexander  had 
been  very  bad  all  the  time  she  had  been 
away.  He  had  not  really  been  very  bad, 
and  old  Kate  had  coddled  him  to  his  heart's 
content ;  but  after  encouraofino:  his  wife  to 
leave  him,  he  had  deeply  resented  her  deser- 
tion, as  is  the  way  of  selfish  invalids.  She 
had  been  gadding  about  and  enjoying  herself, 
while  he  had  pined  alone  in  pain,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  avenge  this  outrage — to  give 
her  to  understand  that  she  was  a  heartless 
and  undutiful  woman,  an  ungrateful  wife  to 


G4  NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN. 

a  husband  who  had,  so  to  speak,  picked  her 
out  of  the  gutter — to  spoil  her  pleasure  as 
thoroughly  as  possible,  and  thereby  restore 
1;he  connubial  relation  to  its  proper  balance. 

Instead  of  meeting  her  on  her  arrival,  he 
left  her  to  seek  him  in  his  own  apartment, 
and  received  her  with  shut  eyes  and  grimly 
narrowed  lips. 

'  Oh,  Dugald  dear,  I  hope  you  have  not 
been  worse  and  wanting  me  V  she  cried,  with 
an  abject  kiss. 

'  You  took  good  care  to  go  where  you 
couldn't  be  found  if  you  were  wanted,'  he 
answered,  with  cutting  calmness. 

And  then  she  fawned  and  protested,  and 
he  sneered  and  jeered,  until  she  was  reduced 
to  tears  and  repentance  for  having  j^resumed 
to  forget  her  place  and  mission  ;  after  which 
he  felt  better,  and  sent  for  his  son. 

'  Well,  my  boy,  so  you've  found  time  at 
last  to  remember  your  father's  existence  ? 
And  what  was  the  picnic  like  ?  You  are 
pretty  sick  of  it,  I  expect,  by  this  time.' 

'  It  was  hot,'  said  Forbes  discreetly,  '  and 
the  mosquitoes  were  certainly  a  nuisance.' 


NOT    ALL    I>f    VATX.  (35 

'  I  should  think  so.  Of  all  the  idiotic 
notions  that  ever  a  silly  "woman  took  into 
her  head ' 

*  Oh,  it  wasn't  so  bad.  Agnes  is  a  capital 
manager,  and  so  unselfish — and  we  all  wanted 
it,  you  know.' 

'  Wanted  to  get  away  from  the  company 
of  a  sick  man,  and  the  trouble  of  waitino-  on 
him — yes,  that  was  only  natural ;  it's  the 
way  of  the  world.  And  I  suppose  you  boys 
have  been  making  no  end  of  fools  of  your- 
selves, with  two  girls  hanging  round  you 
night  and  day.  For  my  part,  I  don't  call 
it  decent.' 

'  We  had  a  tent,'  said  the  young  man, 
'and  Ao-nes ' 

*  Oh,  I  know  the  sort  of  chaperon  shed 
make  !  She  has  just  been  contriving  the 
whole  thing  so  as  to  catch  you  for  her 
friends — got  'em  up  on  purpose,  of  course. 
A  woman  has  no  shame  when  it's  a  question 
of  getting  a  man's  neck  into  the  noose,  espe- 
cially if  he  has  money  in  his  pockets.  But, 
mind  you,  those  Hawkers  are  not  to  count 
on  me.      I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.      If 

VOL.  L  5 


66  KOT    ALL   IX   VAIN. 

you've  been  making  an  ass  of  yourself  you 
must  take  the  consequences.  The  girl  has 
got  plenty  of  her  o\Yn.' 

'Miss  Hawker,'  said  Forbes,  smiling  un- 
easily, '  has  not  honoured  me  as  3'ou  suppose. 
She  has  chosen  a  better  man.' 

'  What !'  Mr.  Alexander  sat  up  in  his 
chair. 

'  Hugh  proposed  to  her  on  Christmas  Day, 
and  she  has  accepted  him.' 

'  And  you  mean  to  say  you  have  let  fifty 
thousand  pounds  slip  through  your  fingers 
when  you  had  such  a  chance  of  securing  it, 
and  the  oirl  throwino'  herself  at  vour  head  as 
she's  been  doino-  ?' 

'  She  never  did,  though  we've  always  been 
good  friends,  and  she's  not  my  idea  of  a  wife 
— too  frisky,  thougli  a  nice  little  thing  for  a 
game  of  play.' 

'  Oh,  I  don't   care  if  you  don't.     There's 

as  good  fish   in  the  sea '  The  old  man 

stopped  and  glared.  Something  in  his  son's 
face  struck  him.  '  You  haven't  been — but 
of  course  you  haven't — you  Mouldn't  be 
such   an   infernal    idiot — if    I   thouirht    that 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  G7 

I'd  disinherit  you  on  the  spot — by  God,  I 
would  !  I'd  never  own  you  for  a  son  of  mine 
ao'iiin.' 

'  Father,'  said  Forbes  desperately,  '  you 
don't  mean  what  you  are  saying — you  don't 
know  the  circumstances,  you  don't  know  her. 
Such  a  good  cook  and  housekeeper — eco- 
nomical and  saving,  where  a  wife  like  Polly 
would  squander  money  wholesale  —  she 
would  make  me  rich  in  the  end  by  her  care- 
fulness and  cleverness,  she  vrould  indeed  ! 
Agnes  says ' 

'  Agnes  !  I'll  teach  Agnes  to  ])lay  these 
tricks  with  my  family — bringing  her  beg- 
garly acquaintances  into  this  house ' 

'  You  must  not  blame  her,  father.  It  is 
not  her  fault.' 

'  It  is  her  foult.  Send  her  to  me  this 
minute.  This  is  the  result  of  her  precious 
picnic,  is  it  ?  Just  what  might  have  been 
expected  !  Tell  her  I  want  her,  and  tell  her 
to  send  that  designing  minx  packing ' 

*  Father,  you  must — you  must  let  me 
explain.' 

*  I  tell  you  I  won't   have  it,  sir  !'   roared 


G8  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIX. 

the   old  man,  standing  up  and   shaking   his 
fist.      '  I — won't — have  it  !' 

Agnes  heard  these  high  words,  and  braced 
herself  to  meet  the  storm  ;  with  her  came 
Nell,  who  had  also  been  hovering  near. 
Forbes  looked  at  his  betrothed  in  anguish, 
signing  to  her  to  go  away  ;  but  the  gentle 
girl  was  brave,  and  marched  into  the  room 
dauntlessly. 

'  Look  here,  madam,'  said  the  irate  father, 
foaming,  '  you  think  you  have  made  a  great 
catch,  don't  you  ?  You  and  Agnes  think 
you  have  done  a  v\'onderful  fine  thing  with 
your  picnics  and  your  gallivantings  !  Well, 
you  are  mistaken.  If  you  marry  my  son 
you  marry  a  beggar.  He  has  nothing  but 
what  he  o-ets  from  me,  and  I  won't  o-ive  him 
a  penny — and  I  won't  leave  him  one.  He 
can  just  choose  between  us.' 

Miss  Cunninoiiam,  who  was  thouHit  to  be 
a  person  on  whom  anybody  might  trample, 
met  these  insults  with  the  greatest  dignity. 

'  Your  son,'  she  said,  *  shall  not  be 
beofOfared  for  me.  I  will  choose  for  him.  I 
give  him  up;  I  wouldn't  marry  him  now  if  3'ou 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN'.  69 

asked  me  on  your  knees.  Good-bye,  Forbes. 
Agnes,  will  you  please  tell  me  when  I  can 
catch  the  coach — to  go  home  to  my  father?' 

Mr.  Alexander  spluttered  and  was  silent. 
The  girl  turned  and  walked  away,  and  Forbes 
rushed  after  her.  Asrnes  stood  in  tears,  and 
upon  her  her  husband  fell  in  a  rage  that 
was  increased  rather  than  diminished  by  the 
sudden  and  unexpected  withdrawal  of  its 
justification.  She  bore  up  with  courage  for 
a  time  ;  she  even  attempted  to  express  her 
sentiments  of  indignation  and  S3"mpathy  on 
behalf  of  the  true  lovers  who  had  been  so 
badly  treated  ;  but  for  her  temerity  she  was 
taken  by  the  arm  and  shaken,  and  the  spirit 
was  shaken  out  of  her. 

There  were  trao-ic  scenes  that  niufht. 
Forbes  begged  of  Nell  not  to  cast  him  oif, 
and  his  stepmother  (in  the  background) 
supported  his  petition,  regardless  of  the 
dreadful  consequences  ;  and  Nell  admitted 
that  he  was  not  to  blame,  and  kissed  him  in 
farewell  and  wept  upon  his  shoulder.  Never- 
theless, the  girl  adhered  to  her  determina- 
tion not  to  take  from  him   liis  prospective 


70  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN. 

fortune  and  his  father's  favour,  and  insisted 
on  being  conveyed  out  of  the  house  where 
she  had  been  so  grossly  insulted  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment.  So  the  next  morning  she 
was  driven  to  meet  the  coach,  escorted  b}' 
Mr.  Baird,  who  also  felt  himself  de  trop 
under  the  circumstances,  and  pleaded  press- 
insf  business  at  home  as  an  excuse  for  cuttino- 
short  his  visit.  Aofnes  kissed  her  friend 
fervently,  and  whispered,  '  Some  day — some 
day  it  will  all  come  right.'  And  doubtless 
Nell  expected  that  it  would  v/hen  Forbes 
(in  a  back  passage)  strained  her  to  his  breast 
and  implored  her  not  to  forget  that  she  was 
the  only  woman  he  would  ever  love.  Her 
home  was  in  Tasmania,  which  in  those  days 
was  much  farther  off  than  it  is  now  ;  and 
when  she  arrived  there  after  a  tedious  jour- 
ney she  was  a  long,  long  way  from  Forbes — 
much  longer  than  she  had  any  idea  of.  In 
point  of  fact,  she  never  saw  him  again. 
She  waited  and  waited  silently,  assuming 
that  all  was  over,  but  secretly  expecting  that 
he  would  contrive  by  some  means  to  bridge 
the  gulf  between  them  ;  then  she  gave  up 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIxV.  71 

looking  for  his  return,  and  in  course  of  time 
was  wooed  and  won  by  another. 

When  the  Christmas  party  was  dissolved 
— Hugh  and  Polly  having  departed  to  the 
Hawker  mansion,  where  the  current  of  their 
affairs  ran  as  smoothly  as  heart  could  wish 
— and  only  Forbes  was  left  under  the  pater- 
nal roof,  then  the  old  man,  who  had  got  his 
own  way  so  easily,  was  moved  to  feel 
compunctious  and  uncomfortable.  He  was 
human,  after  all,  and  he  did  have  the  gout 
badly.  His  wife's  dejected  looks  did  not 
distress  him — what  he  chose  to  do  or  not 
to  do  was  none  of  her  business — but  it 
fretted  him  to  see  the  bright  young  fellovv* 
w^ho  was  a  part  of  himself  (and  so  infinitely 
superior  to  other  men's  sons)  mooning  about 
the  place,  without  a  word  for  anybody,  look- 
ing the  picture  of  despair.  Poor  boy  !  It 
was  not  his  fault,  but  the  fault  of  designing 
females  who  had  laid  snares  to  ruin  him. 

Mr.  Alexander  took  a  sudden  and  heroic 
resolution. 

'  Look  here,'  said  he,  '  you  have  often 
wanted  to  travel  when   I  haven't  been  able 


72  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN'. 

to  spare  you  ;  what  do  you  say  to  a  trip 
now  ?  Shearing's  over,  and  nothing  par- 
ticular doing,  I'll  give  you  a  couple  of 
thousands,  if  you  like,  and  you  may  stay 
away  till  you  have  spent  it.' 

Forbes  thanked  his  father  listlessly  and 
intimated  that  he  had  no  heart  for  travel  or 
for  anything  just  now  ;  one  place  was  the 
same  as  another  to  a  blighted  man.  But 
by-and-by  he  changed  his  mind  and  thouglit 
it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  detach  himself 
from  painful  associations  for  a  time.  By 
degrees  the  fascination  of  the  prospect  grew 
upon  him,  and  his  broken  lieart  began  to 
mend.  After  all,  he  had  known  Xell  Cun- 
ningham for  a  short  week  onl}^ 


CHAPTER  Y. 

One  year  later,  having  had  the  best  of  good 
times  in  the  interval,  Forbes  Alexander 
found  himself  on  the  way  to  spend  Christ- 
mas with  a  family  named  Hammond,  whose 
eldest  son  had  married  Esther  Pomeroy  (the 
daughter  of  Roberta  Hayward,  that  used  to 
be),  a  young  lady  for  whom  our  hero  had  for 
several  months  cherished  a  deej)  attachment, 
that  was  now  in  process  of  wearing  off.  The 
head  of  the  Hammond  family  was  a  squire 
in  a  small  way,  living,  when  he  was  at  home, 
in  a  solid  ancestral  house  near  the  east  Nor- 
folk coast,  with  his  village  at  his  gates  and 
his  hereditary  acres  of  land  and  water  around 
him — a  district  that  was  not  known  to  fame 
in  those  days,  as  it  is  now,  nor  thought  to 
be  beautiful  in  any  way.      The  lonely  meres 


74  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX. 

and  marshes,  unpainted  and  unsung,  were  a 
by-word  for  desolation,  particularly  in  winter 
time,  when  gray  sea-fogs  overspread  them 
and  the  reed  spears  rattled  like  dead  bones 
in  the  wind  ;  but  the  Hammonds'  house  in 
the  midst  of  them,  with  its  red  windows 
shining,  was  notorious  for  its  cheerfulness  at 
that  season.  Not  even  Agnes'  Christmas 
camp,  sweet  memory  that  it  was,  could  com- 
pare with  the  festival  that  our  young  hero 
helped  to  celebrate  under  this  hospitable 
English  roof 

James  Hammond  met  him  at  the  nearest 
railway  station,  and  drove  him  home  in  a 
hisfh  doo-'Cart  throuoii  the  mist  and  the  mud 
alongf  the  dvke-bordercd  roads.  What  a 
contrast  to  the  gleaming  plains  and  gum- 
scented  forests,  soaked  in  purest  sunshine, 
through  Avhich  he  had  driven  with  Nell 
Cunningham  twelve  months  (but  it  seemed 
twelve  j^cars)  ago !  Like  a  ship  sailing 
through  the  open  darkness  the  dog-cart 
moved,  a  dim  black  shape  upon  the  horizon, 
visible  at  a  oreat  distance  in  a  o-low  of  its 
twin    lamps.      Anon   it    was    lost    in    thick 


XOT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  75 

reed-beds  and  hedg^es,  throuo-h  which  wide- 
spreading  fen  waters  gleamed  at  intervals 
like  sheets  of  ground  glass.  Trees  and  houses 
gathered,  phantom- like,  about  its  path ; 
hovels  and  thatched  cottages  —  groups  of 
farm-buildino's  with  their  dark  cones  of  stacks 
beside  them,  and  their  skeleton  orchards  and 
gardens.  As  they  drove,  the  young  men, 
who  had  a  comparatively  old  acquaintance, 
talked  their  talk  of  gun  and  rod — of  the 
ways  of  wild  fowl,  the  weight  that  pike  and 
eel  attained  to,  the  unsuspected  capabilities 
of  the  unhandy-looking  Norfolk  wheny,  and 
so  on,  until  they  came  to  the  squire's  village, 
on  the  outskirts  of  which  loomed  an  old 
house  that  took  the  attention  of  the  stranger. 
Solidly  outlined  on  the  still  faintly  trans- 
parent sky,  it  revealed  that  superfluity  of 
gabled  roof  and  aspiring  chimney  which 
never  failed  to  appeal  to  him  as  a  new-world 
hunter  of  the  legendary  and  the  picturesque. 
He  asked,  as  soon  as  he  saw  it,  the  question 
that  was  so  frequently  on  his  lips  : 

'  What  place  is  that  V 

*  Weep  Hall,'  said  his  companion.      '  Odd 


76  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX. 

name,  isn't  it  ?  King  Charles  was  once 
hidden  in  the  secret  chamber,  and,  losing 
heart,  broke  out  a-weeping  and  thereby  be- 
trayed himself  to  his  enemies — that's  the 
origin  of  it.  History  doesn't  seem  to  authen- 
ticate the  circumstance,  but  so  much  the 
worse  for  history.  We  are  all  quite  sure 
that  it  was  so.  There's  the  very  secret 
chamber  to  prove  it.  It  opens  into  the  hall 
chimne}^,  half-way  up,' 

*  How  interesting  !  Is  it  what  you  call  a 
seat  ?' 

'  It  Avas  once,  but  nothing  remains  of  the 
old  family  except  some  brasses  and  things  in 
the  church.  It's  been  a  farmhouse  for  a 
good  while.  N^ow  it  isn't  even  that— there's 
only  a  field  or  two  belonging  to  it.' 

*  Who  lives  there  ?' 

'  An  old  soldier  and  his  daughter.  Old,  I 
call  him,  but  he's  on  the  young  side  of  fifty 
yet.  Shot  at  Inkerman.  There's  a  bullet 
in  his  chest  now — pierced  the  lung — had  to 
take  some  rib  out — chronic  empyema,  you 
know,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  he's  wasted 
away  in  consumption  and  all  twisted  o'  one 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  77 

side  —  a  dreadful  wreck  !  Besides  having 
a  leg  off  above  the  knee.  Anybody  else 
would  have  got  done  with  such  a  job  in  a 
week,  especially  seeing  the  sort  of  surgery 
they  had  on  the  field  in  those  days.'  James 
Hammond  was  studying  for  tlie  medical 
profession,  and  did  more  than  justice  to  the 
.strides  it  had  made  in  his  own  adult  lifetime. 
*  It's  wonderfid  how  he  holds  out.  He's  got 
.such  a  cast-iron  constitution  and  sucli  pluck 
as  you  never  saw.  More  than  that,  he's 
been  nursed  by  ' — he  paused  as  if  to  choose 
his  words — *  by  a  person  who  understands 
the  Rvt  of  keeping  pco2:)le  alive — one  wind's 
just  as  plucky  as  he  is.' 

*  Why,'  said  his  companion,  with  a  sudden 
effort  of  memory,  *  surely  that  must  be 
Colonel  what's-his-name  V 

'  Xot  colonel — major  :   Major  Knowles.' 

'  The  father  of  a  lady  I  know — a  neigh- 
bour of  mine  in  Australia — Mrs.  Joseph 
Anderson.' 

'  He  has  a  step-daughter  of  that  name  in 
Australia.  Joe  Anderson  used  to  jjo  to 
school  with  my  eldest  brother.      They   both 


78  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN*. 

went  courting  to  Weep  Hall,  and  a  lot  of  other 
fellows.  Miss  Belle — Mrs.  Anderson  that 
is  now — was  a  very  prett}"  oii"l-' 

*  She's  pretty  now,  and  looks  a  girl  still. 
She  asked  me  to  go  and  see  her  people,  and 
gave  me  their  address.  But  such  a  lot  of 
them  wanted  me  to  see  their  people,  don't 
you  know,  and  I  didn't  trouble  to  keep  the 
addresses.  I  had  an  idea  the  place  was 
called  Smile  Hall.  But  really  I  had  for- 
ofotten  all  about  it.' 

*  Oh,  well,  vou  must  o-o  and  call  on  them 
now  you're  here.  It  would  be  a  real  kind- 
ness. He  must  have  an  awful  life  of  it, 
though  he  never  complains  to  anybod}',  for 
he  can't  walk  about  now  ;  and  she  —  she 
hardly  ever  leaves  him — never  goes  out  like 
other  girls.  My  sisters  are  trying  to  get  her 
to  come  to  our  ball  next  week,  because  there's 
an  old  aunt  there  now,  who  can  look  after  him 
while  she's  awa}'  ;  but  I  know  she  won't.  I've 
betted  Cany  a  pair  of  gloves  that  she  won't.' 

'  Is  she  like  Mrs.  Anderson?' 
'  No.       There's    full   ten    years    between 
them,   for  one  thing.      Major  Knowles  mar- 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  70 

ried  a  widow  older  than  himself;  Mrs, 
Anderson  was  her  daughter  by  the  first 
husband.  Miss  Knowles  at  the  time  of  the 
battle  was  not  more  than  four  or  five.  Her 
mother  died  when  she  was  seven  or  eight, 
and  Belle  married  not  long  after.  Those 
two,'  with  a  backward  nod  in  the  direction 
of  the  receding  house,  '  have  been  all  in  all 
to  each  other  ever  since.  They're  more  like 
brother  and  sister  than  father  and  child.' 

'Well  off?' 

'  Oh,  just  middling — half-pay  and  a  little 
something.  Enough  for  two  people,  living 
as  the}'  do.' 

'  Pretty  ?' 

'  Who  ?  Katherine  ?'  James  Hannnond 
paused,  and  then  said,  in  a  guarded  way  : 
*  I  don't  think  people  call  her  pretty.  Ver\' 
nice-looking — a  thorough  lad}',  and  all  that 
— and  fjood.' 

*  Oh,  I  know,'  the  Australian  interrupted, 
with  a  laugh.  '  That  describes  her  sufli- 
ciently.  The  sort  of  person  we  ought  to 
admire,  and  yet  somehow  never  do.' 

'  I  don't   know   about   that,'  said   James. 


80  NUT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

*  I  think  a  good  many  people  admire  Kathe- 
rine  Knowles.' 

'Do  you?' 

Again  the  answer  came  sIona'I}'.  '  My 
brother  Neil  does.  He  admires  her  tremen- 
dously. You  don't  know  my  brother  Xeil  ? 
He's  at  Yarmouth,  in  the  herring  trade. 
He'll  be  down  to-morrow  night  for  Christ- 
mas.' 

'  That's  the  big  fellow,  isn't  it  ;' 

The  speaker  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  being  warned 
that  he  was  near  his  journey's  end  ;  and, 
finding  it  rather  a  bore  to  have  to  look  up 
Mrs.  Anderson's  relations  when  he  wanted 
to  enjoy  himself,  ])resently  forgot  all  about 
them  in  the  society  of  ladies  who,  whether 
they  were  good  or  not,  were  undoubtedly 
])retty —  particularly  Miss  Carry. 

A  fine  old  Englisli  house,  big,  substantial, 
unpretentious,  full  of  warmth  and  comfort, 
was  the  home  of  the  Hammonds,  and  a 
delightful  place  for  a  nice  young  man  to  visit 
in  the  Christmas  season,  Tlic  particular 
nice  young  man  in    question — and  English 


I 


NOT   ALL    IX    VAIN.  HI 

society,  as  far  as  it  was  acquainted  with  him, 
voted  him  extraordinarily  nice,  all  things 
considered — thought  better  of  English  society 
than  he  had  ever  done  when  he  passed  out 
of  the  desolate  nisfht  into  the  brio-ht  hall, 
^vhere  the  family,  supplemented  by  a  number 
of  gay  young  guests,  were  drinking  tea  round 
the  Yule  fire.  They  welcomed  him  as  if  he 
were  a  long-lost  brother — after  the  fashion 
of  welcomes  in  his  own  country,  only  in  his 
country  there  vras  no  such  background  for 
charming  figures  as  here.  It  reminded  him 
of  Christmas  pictures  in  the  Illustrated 
London  News.  A  pair  of  schoolboys  left  off 
roasting  chestnuts  on  a  superfine  steel  shovel 
(which,  when  it  was  red-hot,  they  placed 
upon  the  hearth-rug)  to  take  his  cap  and  his 
fur  coat ;  and  old  Mrs.  Hammond,  with  her 
knitting  in  her  mittened  fingers,  got  up  to 
welcome  him  in  a  sweetly  maternal  manner. 
His  older  friend,  Mrs.  Pomeroy,  a  majestic 
woman,  who  went  to  Court  on  occasions,  and 
looked  the  last  person  to  have  fought  blacks 
through  loopholes  in  a  slab  hut,  or  to  liavc 
heard  of  such  doings,  extended  a  cordial 
VOL.  T.  G 


82  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

hand  to  him,  which  was  a  very  special 
favour  ;  and  Esther,  her  daughter,  wife  of 
the  Hammond  who  had  been  at  school  with 
Joe  Anderson,  met  him  with  sisterly  smiles 
and  held  up  her  new  baby,  the  idol  of  the 
family,  to  show  him  what  a  perfect  beauty 
of  a  baby  it  was.  He  was  very  fond  of 
Esther  still,  though  growing  resigned  to  the 
ill-luck  which  had  disposed  of  her  to  Tom 
Hammond  before  his  arrival  in  England ;  but 
that  did  not  prevent  him  from  being  fasci- 
nated by  the  good  looks  of  one  of  her  sisters- 
in-law,  who  brought  him  tea  and  pressed 
hot  muffins  upon  him.  He  had  been  raving 
of  Esther  in  his  letters  to  her  Australian 
cousin,  when  thanking  that  lady  for  intro- 
ducingr-  him  to  her  relations:  'so  tborouo-hlv 
English,'  he  said  ;  '  not  to  be  compared  with 
dear  Nell,  of  course — a  wholly  different  style 
— still,  an  exquisite  creature  as  I  ever  saw.' 
But  when  he  wrote  to  Ao^nes  at  Christmas 
he  did  not  mention  Mrs.  Tom  Hammond, 
and  gave  a  page  or  two  to  a  description  of 
the  incomparable  Miss  Carry. 

In  the  midst  of  this  pleasantest  of  pleasant 


NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN.  83 

company  he  sat  down  to  talk  and  to  drink 
tea,  and  to  become  immediately  absorbed 
into  all  the  interests  of  the  house.  The 
young  folk  clamoured  to  know  whether  he 
would  act  in  their  private  theatricals,  and 
what  character  would  suit  him  best. 

'  We  are  to  have  them  on  Wednesday,' 
said  Barbara  Hammond,  who  was  the  eldest 
dauo-hter,  and  eng-ao-ed  :  '  and  the  ball  after- 
ward.  "  Little  Toddles  "  is  the  piece.  Do 
you  know  it?  Oh,  it's  great  fun.  Mr. 
Thwaites' — smiling  at  her  Jiance,  who  turned 
the  scale  at  seventeen  stone  —  'is  to  be 
Toddles,  because  he's  so  funny,  and  has  no 
beard  or  whiskers.  Esther  made  him  a 
petticoat  body,  tucked,  and  a  white  muslin 
garibaldi.'  She  stretched  out  her  arms  to 
indicate  the  immense  size  of  those  garments, 
and  the  company  laughed  all  round.  *  I'm 
going  to  be  his  stepmother,'  she  added,  at 
which  the  laugh  became  a  roar.  '  And  Jim 
was  to  have  been  his  papa.  But  he  doesn't 
care  anything  about  it — all  he  thinks  of  are 
his  dry  medical  books  ;  and  he  is  dreadfully 
stupid  and  lumbering.      Neil  is  worse  ;  he's 


84  NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN. 

like  an  elephant  on  the  stage — quite  un- 
manageable. Perhaps  yoii  could  do  the 
papa  V 

'  What  !  At  five  days'  notice  V 
He  modestly  assured  them  that  he  was  a 
stick  of  sticks,  while  confessinor  to  some 
experience  of  amateur  play-actir.g.  But 
she  said  she  knew  better ;  anyone  could 
tell  from  the  look  of  him  that  he  wasn't 
that,  whatever  else  he  might  be.  Carry 
smiled  an  emphatic  confirmation  of  her 
sister's  opinion,  v/hile  the  brothers  bade 
them  test  their  new  recruit  before  they 
committed  themselves.  He  presently  went 
to  his  room,  feeling  quite  like  a  member  of 
the  family,  and  even  (for,  as  has  been  indi- 
cated, he  was  much  given  to  sudden  fancies 
of  this  nature  in  the  daj^s  of  his  gay  3^outh, 
before  his  great  experience  came  to  him) 
thinking  it  possible  that  he  might  actually 
be  so  some  day.  A  vision  of  the  pretty 
3'oungest  daughter  accompanied  him,  and 
looked  on  while  he  tied  one  cravat  after 
another  before  he  could  achieve  the  perfect 
bow  that  satisfied  him.      Her  hair  was  like 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN'.  85 

gold,  and  her  dimples  charming  ;  and  a  more 
delio-htful  household  to  marry  into  could 
hardly  be  imagined. 

He  went  down  when  he  was  dressed 
looking  particularly  distinguished  and  grace- 
ful— not  a  bit  *  colonial,'  as  the  ladies 
remarked  to  each  other — and  found  the 
company  assembling  round  the  bright  hall 
fire.  It  was  a  great  hall,  that  was  much 
frequented  at  all  times,  but  just  now  was 
the  common  sittinof-room  of  the  house. 
The  drawing-room  had  its  carpet  uj),  and 
was  wholly  given  over  to  promiscuous 
dances,  tableaux,  and  other  holiday  enter- 
tainments. The  staofe  for  the  theatricals 
was  built  in  its  large  bay-window,  through 
which  the  actors  had  to  retire  by  way  of  a 
garden  path  to  the  school-room  when  the}'" 
wanted  to  dress  themselves.  Some  of  its 
sofas  and  arm-chairs  were  now  disposed 
amongst  the  antique  furniture  of  the  hall, 
with  an  effect  that  was  very  comfortable. 
A  few  ladies  sat  on  them — old  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond, in  a  snuffy  gown  and  diamonds  ;  Mrs. 
Pomeroy,  simple  and  stately,  in  black  velvet; 


86  NOT   ALL    TX    VAIN". 

a  meagre  ex-governess  returned  to  spend 
the  holidays,  and  two  schoolgh^s  in  pig-tails. 
Mr.  Pomeroy,  a  stout  and  rosy  country 
gentleman,  with  no  sign  of  romantic  adven- 
tures about  him,  and  Mr.  Hammond,  white- 
moustached  and  wizened,  warmed  themselves 
at  the  broad  fire,  with  coat-tails  over  their 
arms ;  and  spruce  young  men  sauntered 
around  in  their  gleaming  shirt-fronts  and 
shining  pumps.  Then  the  young  ladies 
came  drifting  down  the  stairs,  like  Jacob's 
angels  down  the  ladder,  fair  Carry  the  last 
and  loveliest,  in  a  long  white  robe,  with  a 
white  flower  in  her  hair.  She  blushed  and 
fluttered  as  she  descended,  encountering  the 
ardent  eyes  of  the  Australian  guest ;  her 
own  blue  eyes  fell,  and  all  her  dimples  came 
out. 

'  My  dear,'  said  young  Mrs.  Hammond  to 
her  sister-in-law,  Barbara,  '  did  you  see 
that  ?  My  plans  are  evidently  going  to 
prosper.  I  am  determined  to  marry  that 
young  man — for  his  good — and  Carry  is  the 
very  wife  for  him,  I  brought  him  here  on 
purpose,    and    he    begins    straight  ofi^.      So 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  87 

does  she — and  I  don't  wonder,  for  he  is  a 
perfectly  delightful  fellow.  Mark  my  words, 
she  will  be  Mrs.  Forbes  Alexander  by  this 
time  next  year.' 

Barbara  nodded.  '  We  shall  have  to 
make  it  a  condition  that  he  doesn't  take  her 
to  Australia,  away  from  us.  She  couldn't 
live  the  life  your  mother  used  to  do.' 

'  Oh,  you  little  stupid  !'  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Tom  ;  *  as  if  anybody  did  in  these  days  !' 

What  Forbes  Alexander  wanted  very 
much  was  to  take  Miss  Carry  in  to  dinner^ 
but  this  bliss  was  denied  him,  and  the 
honour  of  being  selected  by  his  hostess  for 
herself  did  not  console  him  for  the  dis- 
appointment. Nevertheless,  he  made  himself 
very  agreeable  in  conversation  with  that 
lad}',  to  whose  motherly  heart  he  had 
already  endeared  himself,  and  had  his  reward 
later  on,  when  '  Little  Toddles '  was  re- 
hearsed, followed  by  an  im2)romptu  dance  in 
the  empty  drawing-room.  Such  a  merry, 
jolly,  happy  evening  he  had  never  spent  in 
his  life,  he  said,  when  he  lit  the  ladies' 
candles  at  midnight,   and  wistfully  watched 


88  NOT   ALL   IX    VAIX. 

tlieiii  trooping  ujDstairs,  before  betaking  him- 
self to  the  smoking^-room.  The  ideal  Eno-lish 
Christmas  of  which  he  had  heard  so  much 
was  more  than  realized. 

Next  day  was  the  24th,  and  the 
Christmas-tree  was  set  up  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  the  mistletoe  bough  suspended  in 
tlie  hall,  the  floor  of  which  was  heaped  with 
green  stuff,  out  of  which  wreaths  and  other 
devices  were  evolved  for  the  festive  adorn- 
ment of  wall  mouldings  and  picture-frames  ; 
and  the  village  church  was  decorated.  This 
latter  business  was  undertaken  b}^  certain 
members  of  the  party,  Avhile  the  rest 
attended  to  the  preparations  in  the  house; 
and  it  unfortunately  happened  that  Alexan- 
der had  committed  himself  to  the  Christmas- 
tree  too  deeply  to  extricate  himself  before 
he  discovered  that  Carry  Hammond  was 
bound  for  the  villao-c. 

'  But  I  will  join  you  as  soon  as  I  can  get 
away,'  he  said  eagerlj",  looking  at  Barbara, 
but  addressing  the  younger  sister.  *  I  have 
promised  Mrs.  Tom  that  I  will  fix  the  tapers 
— and  there  are  a  hundred  of  them — and 


NOT    ALT,    IX    VAIX.  89 

hang  the  things  to  the  top  branches.  But 
we  shall  not  be  able  to  see  after  four 
o'clock,  and  then  I  will  come  and  fetch 
you.' 

He  punctually  fulfilled  that  promise. 
The  other  j^'oung  men  who  were  not  already 
at  the  church  were  sailing  home  across  the 
marshes  with  Xeil  Hammond,  whom  they 
had  gone  to  meet  in  the  morning,  and  he 
walked — nay,  he  ran — to  the  village  un- 
accompanied. When  he  got  there  it  was  all 
but  dark,  and  the  interior  of  the  old  church, 
which  the  brightest  summer  noon  could  not 
clear  of  shadows,  was  an  impenetrable 
mystery  to  anyone  not  accustomed  to  it. 
The  young  ladies  were  still  at  work  by  the 
aid  of  some  candles  which  they  had  found 
in  the  sexton's  cupboard  under  the  tower, 
and  which  only  made  darkness  visible  to  the 
stranger's  eyes.  He  peered  about  for  a  face 
he  knew,  and  discovered  Barbara  and  young 
Thwaites  at  the  altar-rail  ;  they  were  en- 
circling every  little  column  of  the  balustrade 
with  a  corkscrew  wreath,  and  only  four  out 
of  nine  were  finished.     • 


90  NOT   ALL    IX    VAIX. 

*  You  are  not  going  to  do  all  that  to-night, 
are  you  ?'  he  inquired,  lifting  a  coil  of  the 
Avreath,  which  lay  in  yards  on  the  floor 
around  them, 

'  We  are  so,'  cried  Barbara,  \\ith  the 
flippancy  of  a  young  lady  on  familiar  terms 
with  the  sacred  edifice,  '  if  we  have  to  be 
here  till  morning.  Xo,  you  can't  helj)  us. 
There  isn't  room  for  three.' 

'  Evidently  not,'  he  rejoined  with  a  laugh. 
*  Can't  I  help  anybody  else  ?' 

'  I  don't  know.  Carry  is  in  the  pulpit 
with  Mr.  Brand.' 

'  Who's  Mr.  Brand  ?' 

'  Our  vicar.  They  are  putting  their 
wreath  round  the  sounding-board.' 

He  made  his  way  to  the  pulpit  and  looked 
u^J  eagerly.  The  vicar — a  red-faced  and 
gray-haired  vicar,  he  was  pleased  to  see — 
was  laboriously  nailing  a  thick  rope  of  ever- 
greens to  the  cornice  over  his  head,  bending 
himself  backward  in  a  way  to  dislocate  his 
spinal  column.  Caiiy  was  holding  U})  a 
loose  part  of  it  in  one  hand  and  her  candle  in 
the  other,  the  faint  light — all  the  light  this 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  91 

rural  sanctuary  was  ever  furnished  with, 
save  that  of  sun  and  moon — touching  her 
pretty  face  with  a  ghostly  glow  that  was 
quite  celestial  and  enchanting. 

'  Can't  I  help  you  ?'  the  spectator  pleaded 
urgently. 

'  No,  thanks,'  re2:)lied  Mr.  Brand,  who  did 
not  recognise  a  new  voice,  and  was  wholly 
occupied  with  his  decorations.  '  There's 
only  room  for  two  here.' 

'  Can't  I  take  your  place,  Miss  Carry  ? 
Your  arms  must  ache.' 

*  No,  thank  you,'  slie  repeated,  looking 
down  on  him  with  her  dimpled  smile.  '  I 
think  I  can  do  it  best.' 

The  young  man  continued  to  stand  in  the 
clerk's  seat  beneath  the  reading-desk,  wdiich 
was  the  middle  deck  of  the  structure,  gazing 
at  the  fair  face  and  white  hands  above  him, 
the  candle  illuminating  his  visage  also,  so 
that  she  could  sec  how  rapt  he  was.  And 
then  James  Hammond  came  along — good- 
natured  Jim,  who  had  been  working  like  a 
navvy  all  day. 

*  Look  here,'  said    Jim,   *  we   shall   be   a 


92  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX. 

good  hour  yet  before  we've  done,  and  you 
are  no  use  here.  Suppose  you  take  the 
opportunity  to  run  down  the  road  to  Weep 
Hall  V 

'Eh?  What  for?'  inqmred  Mr.  Alex- 
ander, 

'  To  see  Major  Knowles — to  do  Mrs. 
Anderson's  commission.  It  is  not  more 
than  half  a  mile — straight  road — and  the 
old  fellow  would  feel  it  a  kindness,  I  know. 
It's  not  a  particularh^  merry  Christmas  Eve 
for  him.' 

'  Oh,  bother  !'  was  the  response  to  this 
proposition.  '  There  isn't  time  for  that 
now.  I  am  in  waiting  on  your  sister.  I 
said  I  would  sec  her  home.' 

'  We  won't  go  home  without  you.  Mrs. 
Brand  is  going  to  give  them  tea  at  the 
vicaraofe  to  warm  them.  It  will  be  ofettino- 
on  for  six  before  we're  ready  to  start.  I've 
sent  for  the  wao-o-oncttc.  You  may  as  well 
go  now,  don't  3'ou  think,  while  3'ou've 
iiothinof  else  to  do  ?  Mrs.  Anderson  will 
have  written  to  him  to  expect  you,  and  he 
is  sure  to  know  vou  are  with  us.' 


NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN.  93 

'  Oh,  he  won't  know.  And  if  he  does 
I'm  only  just  come.' 

*  All  right.  Just  as  3'ou  like,  of  course. 
Only  I  thought  —  well,  you  see.  Miss 
Knowles  is  here,  and  my  sisters  are  very 
likely  to  speak  of  you.' 

'  Which  is  Miss  Knowles  ?' 

Jim  looked  throusfh  the  vault-like  s^loom 
at  the  various  fiofures  flittino-  round  the 
candles,  but  could  not  identify  Miss  Knowles. 
However,  the  suggestion  of  imminent  com- 
munication with  her,  and  some  pricks  of 
conscience  with  respect  to  the  treatment 
Mrs.  Anderson's  commission  had  received, 
overcame  a  natui'al  unwillingness  to  sub- 
stitute duty  for  pleasure,  and  our  young- 
man  decided  to  go. 

'  I  suppose  I  may  as  well — and  ?fet  done 
with  it,'  he  said  resignedly,  buttoning  his 
furred  coat.  '  Tell  Miss  Carry,  if  she  asks 
for  me,  that  I  will  be  back  in  half  an  hour.' 


CHAPTER    YI. 

The  evening  seemed  almost  light  after  the 
starred  blackness  of  the  church,  and,  as  Jim 
had  said,  it  was  a  straight  road  to  Weep 
Hall.  Hedges  bordered  it,  and  fields  with 
more  hedges,  for  this  was  not  the  fen,  pure 
and  simple — that  peaty  waste  which  had  no 
fence  save  the  dykes  that  drained  it — but 
an  oasis  that  was  an  island  in  the  sedsfv 
wilderness  hundreds  of  years  ago.  The  old 
house  in  which  the  ubiquitous  king  had 
sought  shelter  in  vain  under  such  pathetic 
circumstances  stood  behind  a  noble  hedge  of 
laurels,  a  little  back  from  the  road,  with  an 
old  garden  and  immemorial  elm-trees  around 
it — picturesque  in  a  high  degree,  even  in 
naked  winter-time,  when  there  was  light 
enough  to  see  it.      Just  now  the  gathering 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  95 

darkness  was  fast  obliterating  all  its  bold 
outlines,  leaving  nothing  distinctly  visible 
but  a  great  latticed  window  set  in  an  eight- 
foot  wall,  two-thirds  of  which  was  masonry 
and  the  rest  ivy,  almost  as  solid  and  im- 
penetrable as  stone.  This  window  was  full 
of  rosy  firelight,  that  streamed  out  over  wet 
lawns  and  laurel  bushes  till  it  touched  the 
confines  of  the  muddy  road.  By  its  light 
the  visitor  easily  found  the  gate  and  his 
way  in.  He  traversed  the  path  from  gate 
to  2X)rch  with  alert,  assured,  straightforward 
stride,  threw  a  tourist's  glance  at  the  con- 
spicuous window,  which  dis23layed  its  ivied 
mullions  and  lozenge  panes  to  great  ad- 
vantage, and  entering  the  cavernous  porch, 
knocked  on  the  stout  door  sharply.  A  neat 
old  woman  in  close  cap  and  lilac  print  apron 
opened  it,  having  lighted  herself  through 
the  dark  hall  with  a  candle,  which  she 
placed  on  a  table  behind  her. 

*  Good  evening,'  said   the   stranger  plea- 
santly.     '  Is  Major  Knowles  at  home  ?' 

*  Well,'  said  the  old  woman,  whose  voice 
Avas  grim,  but  whose  face  he  could  not  see, 


96  NOT    ALL   IX   VAIN. 

'  he's  not  likely  to  be  anywhere  else,  without 
it's  the  churchyard.  Did  you  wish  to  see 
him  V 

'  If  it's  not  inconvenient.  I  am  Mr, 
Alexander — Forbes  Alexander — from  Aus- 
tralia :  will  you  tell  him  ?  I  think  his  daugh- 
ter, Mrs.  Anderson,  has  written  to  him  to 
expect  me — she  asked  me  to  call.  But  if  he 
is  ill — I  am  staying  in  the  neighbourhood 
— I  can  come  again  at  any  time.' 

He  handed  her  his  card,  of  which  she 
took  no  notice. 

'  Come  in,'  she  said,  opening  the  door 
wider  and  then  shutting  it  sharply  behind 
him.  '  I've  heard  them  talking  about  you. 
They  had  given  you  up.' 

'  I  have  been  very  much  engaged,'  the 
young  man  murmured,  as  he  groped  after 
her  throuo-h  the  shadows  of  the  stone- 
flagged  hall  —  tlie  hall  wdiicli  had  the 
chimney  with  King  Charles's  secret  chamber 
in  it — dank  and  dark  as  the  church  where 
all  that  was  mortal  of  the  monarch's  host 
reposed.  Then  the  door  of  the  room  with 
the  cftulgent   window  was  suddenly  opened 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  97 

in  his  face — a  low-ceilinged,  oak-panelled 
room,  with  faded,  homely  furniture — and 
Major  Knowles  was  revealed  b}^  his  ruddy 
fireside,  half  sitting  and  half  tying  in  a 
pillowed  chair. 

*  The  Australian  gentleman  come  to  see 
you,'  said  the  servant,  and  abruptly  de- 
parted. 

Mr.  Forbes  Alexander  hastened  across 
the  room  with  the  frank  and  kindly  air  that 
was  an  unfailing  passport  to  the  good  graces 
of  a  new  acquaintance. 

'  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Alexander,'  was 
the  prompt  welcome  he  received,  in  a  weak 
but  cordial  voice  ;  and  the  speaker  extended 
a  bony  and  bleached  left  hand.  '  You'll 
excuse  my  not  rising.' 

*  Yes,  yes,'  the  young  fellow  answered 
c[uickly  and  earnestly,  grasping  the  claw-like 
fingers  with  the  firm  tenderness  of  a  woman 
(for,  now  that  he  was  about  it,  all  his  kind 
heart  was  interested  in  his  errand).  *  Your 
daughter  has  told  me  of  your  dreadful 
wounds.  Pray  don't  move,  and  tell  me  if  1 
am  intruding.      I  see  you  are  very  ill.' 

VOL.  I.  7 


98  NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN, 

Major  Knowles  signed  to  his  visitor  to 
take  a  chair,  for  the  sHght  movement  he 
had  made  to  receive  him  brought  on  a  fit  of 
coughing  which  arrested  speech.  When  the 
paroxysm  was  over,  he  made  a  httle  proud 
apology  for  his  abject  condition. 

'  Arms  and  leo-s  I  could  have  done  with- 
out,  but  lungs — lungs  are  the  very  devil, 
sir.  A  scrap  of  bone  in  the  lung  tissue — 
I'm  not  sure  that  it  wasn't  merely  a  shred 
of  my  uniform — practically  killed  me,  though 
I've  taken  such  an  unconscionable  time  to 
die.  Fifteen  j^ears  and  seven  weeks  it  is, 
exactly.  However ' — he  seemed  to  pull  him- 
self together,  as  if  ashamed  of  complaining 
about  such  a  trifle — '  mv  lunffs,  like  the 
rest  of  me,  were  at  the  service  of  my 
country.  I  don't  grudge  them  for  a  mo- 
ment.' 

Youno-  Alexander  murmured  '  Yes,'  svm- 
patheticall}^,  not  venturing  to  oflter  pity  in  a 
case  like  this.  The  old  M'oman  came  in 
carrying  a  pair  of  lighted  candles  in  old 
chased  candlesticks,  and  a  pair  of  silver 
snuffers   on   a   trav  :  slie    set    them    on    the 


NOT    ALL    iX    VAIN.  09 

tabic,  drew  red  damask  curtains  across  the 
great  window,  poked  the  fire,  and  heaped 
fresh  coals  upon  it.  Then  he  could  see  his 
host  plainly — a  ghastly,  distorted  figure,  the 
wreck  of  a  once  splendid  man,  not  yet  fift}', 
and  with  a  certain  soldierly  dignity  in  him 
still,  something  that  seemed  to  say  it  was 
stubborn  courage  of  soul,  more  than  ab- 
normal toughness  of  body,  which  had  with- 
stood the  inevitable  for  so  lono-.  His  sunk 
eyes  were  steady  and  calm,  his  prominent 
jaw  resolute,  his  emaciated  cheeks  clean- 
shaved,  and  the  handsome  moustache  kept 
neatly  trimmed — the  kind  of  man  who 
would  never  reallv  surrender  to  his  Miostlv 
enemy  while  he  had  a  breath  left  in  him. 

He  also  examined  his  visitor  for  a  moment 
when  the  light  was  strong  enough,  and  liked 
what  he  saw — the  modest  self-possession  of 
the  young  fellow's  pose  and  manner,  and  his 
general  air  of  kindliness  and  good  breeding, 
which  was  more  strikinof  than  his  ffood 
looks,  though  he  was  very  good-looking. 
Strangers  were  rare,  and  usually  unwelcome, 
in   this   house,  but  in  the   present  case  the 


100  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

stranger  was  invited  to  take  ofF  his  great- 
coat. 

*  I  cannot  stay  long  just  now,'  he  said, 
unbuttoning  it ;  *  but  I  shall  gladly  come 
again  if  you  will  allow  me.  I  am  visiting 
in  the  neighbourhood  for  a  week  or  two, 
with  the  Hammonds.  The}''  have  been  very 
kind  to  me.  This  afternoon ' — producing 
his  watch — '  I  promised  to  fetch  the  young 
ladies  home.  They  are  decorating  the 
church.' 

*  Yes.  Haven't  they  done  yet  ?  It  is 
too  dark  to  see  anything.' 

'  They've  got  some  candles  out  of  the 
belfry  cupboard.  But  I  can't  imagine  how 
they  can  work  by  such  a  light.  They  look 
like  explorers  in  a  cave.' 

'  There'll  be  some  handsome  decorations 
on  the  coats  and  gowns  of  the  congregation, 
at  any  rate.      You  met  my  daughter  V 

'  I  had  not  that  pleasure.  By  the  time  I 
got  down  it  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  one 
lady  from  another.' 

*  It  is  ver}'  rarely  she  is  from  home.  The 
great  difficulty  of  my  life  is  to  get  her  to  go 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN'.  101 

out  and  entertain  herself.  She  is  Hke  her 
mother  in  that  way.  Her  mother  came  to 
the  Crimea  to  nurse  me.'  Eacli  sentence 
was  broken  by  a  cough.  *  Just  now  a 
maiden*  aunt  has  come  to  keep  Christmas 
with  us.  Katherine  thinks  she  is  sitting 
with  me,  but  I  imagine  she  is  getting  the 
history  of  all  that's  hap])ened  since  she  was 
here  last  from  the  housemaid  upstairs. 
Would  you  mind  helping  me  to  shift  my 
j^osition  a  little  ?  Thank  you.  You  have  a 
very  good  knack  of  it.  Yes  ;  but  for  Miss 
Freeman  my  daughter  would  have  been  in. 
She  seldom  goes  more  than  as  far  as  the 
garden  gate  from  me.' 

*  I  have  heard,'  murmured  Alexander, 
'  how  devoted  Miss  Knowles  is  to  you.' 
He  recalled  Jim  Hammond's  description  of 
her — not  pretty,  but  good — with  no  pleasure 
in  the  idea  presented,  but  his  assumption  of 
interest  and  admiration  })assed  very  well  for 
the  real  thing. 

*  She's  my  nurse  and  housekeeper,  and 
my  woman  of  business — all  I  want ;  we've 
had   nobody   else    since   we   sent    away    the 


102  NOT    ALL    IN'    VAIN. 

aunts  and  governesses,  when  she  was  tall 
enough  for  long  frocks,'  proceeded  Major 
Knowlcs  ;  and  then  he  stojDped  to  cough. 
'  She  is  my  real  daughter,  Mr.  Alexander. 
Mrs.  Anderson  is  my  step-daughter, 'and,  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  scarcely  know  her.  She  was 
at  school  during  the  few  years  ray  wife  and 
I  were  together,  and  she  married  very 
young.  It  w^as  really  very  kind  of  her,'  he 
added,  '  to  remember  us.      How  is  she  ?' 

'  Well,  it  is  some  considerable  time  since 
I  saw  her.  I  ought  to  have  delivered  her 
messaofes  sooner,'  said  Forbes  Alexander. 
*  But  somehow,  what  with  one  thing  and 
another — oh,  I  believe  she's  very  w'ell. 
There  was  a  new  baby  just  before .  I  left. 
Beautiful  children  she  has — and  a  wonder- 
fully handsome  woman  herself,  looking  as 
young  as  ever.' 

'  She  was  thought  to  be  a  fascinating  girl,' 
the  stepftither  remarked  in  a  dispassionate 
way.  *  And  it  w^as  certainly  a  piece  of 
great  good  fortune,  under  the  circumstances, 
to  get  her  married  to  a  decent  fellow. 
Anderson  is  a  decent  fellow,  isn't  he  ?' 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  103 

*  A  capital  fellow.  I'm  a  neighbour  of 
his  in  the  Murray  district,  and  I  know  him 
well.      He  is  universally  respected.' 

'  I'm  very  glad  of  that.  When  her 
mother  left  her  to  me — or,  rather,  left  me 
to  her — I  had  a  pretty  anxious  time.  She 
liked  me,  I  think,  in  a  kind  of  way,  but  she 
quite  realised  the  fact  that  I  w^as  not  her 
blood  relation,  and  she  thought  herself  full 
old  enough  to  manage  her  own  affairs.  Her 
own  affairs  were  a  good  deal  more  to  her 
than  mine — that  was  natural — and  they 
were  nuich  mixed  uj)  with  those  of  young 
men  who  used  to  boat  and  fish  in  this 
neighbourhood,  and  whom  I  was  physically 
unable  to  cope  with^at  least,  I  heard  a 
good  deal  to  that  effect  from  the  aunts  ;  but 
I  daresay  they  exaggerated.  The  aunts — 
the  lady  upstairs  was  one  of  them — took 
care  of  me  and  the  house  then,  because  my 
wife's  daughter  hadn't  time  ;  and  they  never 
got  on  together,  and  I,  of  course,  was  not 
able  to  find  out  where  the  blame  lay.  Yes, 
I  was  very  glad  to  see  her  settled.  I  think 
Anderson  was  about  tlio  best  of  them,  and 


104  IsOT    ALL    IN'    VAIN'. 

she  mioht  easily  have  chosen  the  "worst. 
There  was  nothing  to  prevent  her.  I  hked 
the  Httle  I  saw  of  him,  and  he  appears  to 
have  made  her  a  good  husband.' 

'  The  best  of  husbands,'  Alexander  f?aid, 
furtively  looking  at  his  watch  ;  for,  owing  to 
frequent  fits  of  coughing,  this  little  narra- 
tive had  taken  time,  and  time  was  precious. 

'  I  am  deliohted  to  hear  from  so  o^ood 
an  authority,'  said  Major  Knowles,  '  that 
she  is  well  and  happy,  and  things  in  general 
satisfactory^  It  will  be  good  news  to  my 
daughter.  For  some  reason  or  another, 
that  I  can  never  understand,  she  adores  her 
sister,  whom  she  hasn't  seen  for  half  her  life- 
time. Certainly  Mrs.  Anderson  can  write  a 
very  pretty  letter.' 

The  young  man  smiled,  for  he  knew  Mrs. 
Anderson's  letters,  though  he  did  not  know 
her  particularly  well  ;  then  he  became  grave 
again,  and  suggested  that  it  was  a  pity  two 
only  sisters  so  attached  as  these  should  be 
separated  b}^  the  width  of  the  world  from 
one  another. 

'  Why  shouldn't  you  be  all  together  V  he 


NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN'.  105 

made  bold  to  .say.  *  Have  you  never 
thought  of  going  out  ?  It's  a  splendid 
climate  for  lunos,' 

He  blushed  for  his  own  want  of  tact 
when  he  noted  the  grim  amusement  on  the 
crippled  soldier's  face. 

*  No,'  said  Major  Knowles,  '  I  have 
never  thouofht  of  oroino-  out.  But  since  I 
have  heard  of  your  being  here,  an  acquain- 
tance of  Andersons,  I  have  been  anxious  to 
have  a  talk  with  you  about  your  country. 
I  have  been  thinkiESf  it  would  be  the  best 
thing  for  my  gii'l  to  go  there  for  a  bit,  when 
I'm  put  underground  ;  and  I  want  to  know 
about  the  Andersons,  and  whether  she 
would  be  all  right  with  them.  I  may  say  to 
you  in  confidence,  though  you  are  a  stranger, 
that  I  am  very  anxious  about  my  daughter's 
welfare  after  my  death.' 

'  Naturally,'  murmured  the  young  man, 
in  his  sympathetic  voice. 

*  She  will  be  able  to  keep  herself,  but  will 
have  nobody  belonging  to  her — except  the 
aunts,  whom  she  doesn't  care  for,  though 
they   are   good  souls  in  their  way  ;    and    I 


106  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

don't  wish  her  to  stay  on  in  this  house  alone 
—she  couldn't  stand  that.  I  want  her  to 
get  away  from  the  thino's  that  will  remind 
her  of  me  as  soon  and  as  far  as  possible — 
you  understand  ?  And  she'll  do  whatever  I 
advise  her.' 

'  I  am  sure,'  said  the  young  man  earnestly, 
*  that  Anderson  and  her  sister  would  welcome 
her  with  open  arms,  and  do  everything  in 
the  world  to  make  her  happy — anybody 
would.  But  I  trust  it  will  be  a  long  time 
before — before " 

*I  don't  think  it  will,'  said  Major  Knowles, 
replying  to  the  expressive  pause.  '  I  fanc}'" 
this  is  to  be  my  last  winter — really  the  last 
— thouoii  I'd  be  arlad  to  o;o  on  for  a  few 
more,  even  under  the  present  conditions. 
Log  that  I  am,  my  girl  wants  to  keep  me, 
and  I  want  to  stay  with  her.  It's  foolish, 
but  we  can't  help  it.  After  all,  you  know, 
there's  no  certainty  that  we  shall  ever  meet 
again.' 

Forbes  Alexander  was  more  reluctant  to 
go  than  ho  had  been  to  come,  but  was 
obliged   to   break  off  the  conversation   just 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIX.  107 

when  it  was  becoming  interesting.  He  had 
only  allowed  himself  half  an  hour,  and  three- 
quarters  had  passed.  He  could  not  keep 
the  Miss  Hammonds  waiting. 

*  But  I  will  come  again  next  week,'  he 
said,  as  he  stood  up  and  buttoned  his  coat ; 
'  on  Monday,  if  possible — -if  that  will  be 
convenient  to  you.' 

'  Quite — quite.  All  times  are  the  same 
to  me.' 

And  then  they  wished  each  other  good 
night,  and  the  conventional  happy  Christmas, 
and  the  young  man  hurried  away. 

'  After  all,'  he  tliought  to  himself,  *  I  am 
glad  I  went.' 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  half-dozen  candles  in  the  church  were 
reduced  to  one,  which,  in  a  horn  lantern, 
held  on  high  by  a  tow-headed  boy,  enabled 
the  grumbling  sexton  to  collect  the  larger 
2)art  of  the  '  rubbidge '  which  the  young 
ladies  had  left  behind  them.  Daylight  was 
required  to  discover  the  litter  of  small 
leaves,  the  dabs  of  tallow,  the  stray  j>ins, 
and  tacks,  and  hanks  of  twine  that  lurked 
around  altar  and  pulpit  and  amongst  the 
high-walled  pews.  The  young  ladies  them- 
selves were  drinkinsf  tea  at  the  vicaraw 
close  by  ;  its  front  door  stood  open,  iniph'- 
ing  a  hasty  visit.  On  the  dark  road 
outside  its  garden  gate  loomed  the  sub- 
stantial bulk  of  the  Hammonds'  waggonette, 
beside     which     stood     Jim    and     Thwaites, 


NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN.  109 

stamping  and  flapping  their  arms  across 
their  chests.  There  was  no  snow,  but  the 
night  was  raw  and  cold;  and  the  thought 
of  the  wayfarers  from  Yarmouth,  who  had 
chosen  to  beat  home  across  the  wind-swept 
marshes  at  such  a  season,  made  Alexander 
shiver. 

'  Come  along  I  '  cried  Thwaites,  '  we're 
waiting  for  you.'  And  Jim  sang  out, 
'  Girls — hi ! '  And  several  furry  figures 
came  out  of  the  house  and  trooped  toward 
them,  chattering  together,  and  calling  good- 
nights  to  invisible  friends. 

'  Prettier  than  last  j'Car,'  Forbes  heard 
them  say,  as  the  gate  swung  behind  them,  '  if 
only  that  old  wretch  doesn't  meddle ;  I  never 
feel  sure  that  we  shan't  find  all  our  work  un- 
done in  the  morning,  and  the  old  boughs  back 
again.'  As  they  approached  the  lights  of 
the  carriaije  he  saw  that  a  stranger  walked 
between  the  two  Miss  Hannnonds. 

'  This,'  said  Barbara,  *  is  Miss  Knowles. 
Mr.  Alexander — Miss  Knowles.  We  will 
drive  her  home,  Jim,  as  no  one  else  is  going 
that  way.      It  won't  take  a  minute.' 


110  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

'  Of  course  we'll  drive  her  home,'  replied 
Jim,  quickly  ;  and  the  girl  thanked  them 
without  protesting,  and  allowed  herself  to  be 
handed  up  to  her  seat.  Forbes  could  not 
see  her  plainly,  but  thought  she  had  a 
pleasant  voice.  He  had  no  shyness  himself, 
and  began  at  once  to  talk  to  her  of  his  visit 
to  her  father  and  his  acquaintance  with 
Mrs.  Anderson. 

'  It  was  so  very  kind  of  you  to  go  and  see 
him,'  she  said,  '  only  I  do  wish  I  had  been  at 
home.  I  have  been  longing  so  to  hear 
about  my  sister.' 

'  I  shall  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling 
again,'  he  rejoined. 

'  I'll  see  that  he  does,'  said  Carry,  nodding 
archly.      '  I  will  bring  him  mj^self ' 

'  And  yoii  are  to  come  to  2is,  Katherine,' 
said  Barbara,  from  the  corner  where  she 
nestled,  it  was  shrewdly  suspected,  in  the 
curved  arm  of  Mr.  Thwaites.  '  It's  perfect 
nonsense  for  you  to  say  you  can't,  now  that 
your  aunt  is  with  you.  Why,  she  took  care 
of  your  fl\ther  entirely  when  you  were  a  child, 
and  he  was  a  deal  worse  than  he  i.-^  now.' 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  Ill 

*  No,  he  wasn't,'  said  Miss  Knowles. 

'  At  any  rate,  for  an  hour  or  two  now 
and  then — and  especially  for  the  ball.  He'll 
be  in  bed  and  asleep  by  the  time  you  want 
to  start,  and  3'ou  know  he  wishes  it;  he 
told  me  so  himself  I  shall  just  go  in 
with  you  now,'  concluded  Barbara,  suddenly 
determined,  '  and  S2:»eak  to  him  about  it.' 

'  Please  don't,'  pleaded  Miss  Knowles. 
And  Jim,  looking  over  his  shoulder  from  the 
box-seat,  growled  out, '  Don't  bother  her,  let 
her  do  what  she  likes  best.' 

'  She  shall  do  what  her  father  wishes,  and 
what  is  good  for  her,'  replied  Barbara,  *  and 
I  am  not  going  to  stand  any  more  of  her 
nonsense.  Here  she's  been  away  from 
him  now  for  two  or  three  hours,  and  nothins: 
has  happened ' 

*  How     do     I     know    that    nothino-    has 

o 

liappened  ?'  interrupted   Miss  Knowles,  with 
a  note  of  real  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

'  Well,  we'll  soon  prove  that,'  and  the  car- 
riage drawing  up  at  the  gate  of  Weep  Hall, 
Barbara  sprang  to  the  ground  before  her 
friend  alighted.      Alexander,  who  sat  by  the 


112  NOT    ALL   IX    VAIX. 

door,  was  already  in  the  road  to  assist  them, 
and  he  naturally  opened  the  gate  and  piloted 
them  through  the  now  unlighted  garden, 
which  resulted  in  his  being  asked  into  the 
house  again  by  Miss  Knowles. 

Entering  the  warm  sitting-room,  they  saw 
the  major  reclining  in  his  chair,  as  usual, 
^Hs-a-vis  with  the  aunt,  a  lackadaisical-looking 
old  person  in  gay  attire,  industriously  knitting 
him  a  woollen  waistcoat  which  he  was  not 
destined  to  wear.  The  elderly  servant  was 
settinsf  the  table  for  tea — not  afternoon  tea, 
but  the  homely  meal  that  would  have  been 
dinner  in  a  larger  establishment. 

'  There,'  said  Barbara,  flourishing  her 
hand,  '  there  he  is,  you  see,  as  comfortable 
as  possible — I  daresay  enjo^^ing  the  relief  of 
being  rid  of  you  for  a  little  while.'  She 
effusively  greeted  the  surprised  jDair,  and 
was  overpoweringly  kind  in  her  compas- 
sionate inquiries  after  the  invalid's  condition 
— which  was  the  way  of  all  the  Hammonds, 
except  Jim.  Major  Knowles  began  to  cough, 
and  his  daughter  hastened  to  interpose 
between  him  and  his  too  ao-itatino-   visitor. 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN.  113 

*  Don't  flurry,  Barbara — don't  talk,  father,' 
she  said,  in  a  low  tone  of  authority;  and 
with  a  swift  and  apparently  effortless  move- 
ment she  eased  his  liunched-up  attitude 
and  troubled  breathing-,  while  he  politely 
protested  against  the  notion  that  Miss 
Hammond  flurried  him.  Watchino-  them 
both,  the  Australian  visitor  said  to  himself, 
'  Jove,  how  strong  she  is  ! '  Then,  as  slie 
drew  herself  up  and  stood  quietly,  with  a 
hand  on  the  readjusted  pillow,  he  surveyed 
her  fairly  for  the  first  time,  and  concluded 
that  Jim  had  very  stupidly  described  her. 
Pretty  she  was  not,  as  he  had  said,  and  it 
was  equally  certain  that  she  was  good  ; 
but,  without  being  able  to  define  what  it  was 
in  her  that  made  both  terms  equally  ina})pro- 
priate,  he  recognised  a  higher  charm — that 
for  which,  though  it  is  the  greatest  that  a 
woman  can  possess,  no  adjective  has  yet 
been  invented — that  which  we  understand, 
but  inadequately  express,  by  the  poor  word 
interesting.  She  bore  the  signs  outside  as 
well  as  in,  which  is  not  commonly  the  case, 
A  tall,  well-developed,  well-bred  girl,  she 
VOL.  L  8 


]!14  NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN. 

was  technically  plain,  but  virtually  beautiful, 
her  irregular-shaped,  wide-browed,  square- 
jawed  face  having  a  quality  of  grave  sweet- 
ness and  intellectual  strength  that  made  it 
impressive  and  attractive  to  the  cultivated 
eye.  He  looked  at  it  intentl}'  for  a  few 
seconds,  while  she  looked  as  frankly  and 
interestedly  at  him  ;  and  Carry  Hammond's 
dimples  l^egan  to  ^^^H  ^nd  her  grace  and 
colour  to  grow  insipid.  Poor  Carry  sat  in 
the  waggonette  outside,  hugging  herself  in 
her  sealskins,  and  little  thought  that  she 
was  being  cut  out  by  a  girl  in  a  frieze  jacket, 
whose  nose  turned  up.      But  so  it  was. 

Barbara  made  her  appeal  to  Major  Knowles, 
that  he  would  insist  on  sending  Katherine  to 
the  ball  ;  and  he  gi^anted  it  at  once.  He 
said  she  should  go  if  he  had  any  power  to 
make  her.  The  aunt  chimed  in  with  little 
platitudes  about  the  necessit\^  of  occasional 
recreation  for  young  people,  and  hoped  she 
was  capable  of  taking  care  of  her  brother-in- 
law — she  who  had  once  been  his  sole  earthly 
support.  And  Katherine  patientl}'  sub- 
mitted to  be  disposed  of 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN-.  1J5 

'  I  will  go,'  she  said,  *  if  you  wish  it,  father, 
provided  you  are  feeling  fairly  well.  I  know 
Aunt  Ellen  would  take  the  best  care  of  you 
if  you  ^vere  not,  but  you  wouldn't  ask  me 
to  dance  and  pretend  to  enjoy  myself  while 
you  were  suffering.      I  couldn't  do  it.' 

*  I  don't  intend  to  be  suffering,'  said  Major 
Knowles.  *  It  will  do  me  good,  as  Miss 
Hammond  says,  to  get  rid  of  you — to  have 
Aunt  Ellen  all  to  myself  for  once.' 

The  old  lady  simpered  and  looked  de- 
precatingly  at  her  niece.  Katherine  smiled 
serenely. 

'  Then  that's  settled,'  exclaimed  Barbara. 
'  And  now  we  must  hurry  awa\' — we're  so 
awfully  late.  ^'oocZ-night,  Major  Knowles, 
and  thank  you  so  much.  Good-night,  Kath- 
erine, dear.   We  shall  send  for  you,  of  course.' 

Katherine  said  nothing  until  she  was  alone 
with  her  visitors  at  tlie  hall  door  ;  then  she 
earnestly  begged  that  she  might  not  be  sent 
for.  Dr.  Heath  and  his  wife,  she  said,  would 
take  her  u[)  with  thenh 

'  But  of  course  we  shall  send  for  you,'  was 
Barbara's  prom})t  reply.      *  One  of  the   boys 


116  NOT   ALL   IN    VAIX. 

will  drive  down,  and  nothing  that  I  could  say 
would  stop  them.  If  you  make  any  fuss 
about  that  I'll  go  back  to  your  father  again, 
and  ask  him  to  settle  it.  Dr.  Heath,  in- 
deed !  Why,  he's  as  far  from  Weep  Hall  as 
we  are.' 

'  I.  wish  I  might  be  allowed  to  escort  Miss 
Knowles,'  said  Alexander. 

'  No,  no,'  said  Barbara.  '  Xone  of  the 
actors  must  leave  the  house.' 

*  Is  Jim  one  of  the  actors?'  said  Katharine 
quickl}". 

'  No,  he's  thrown  it  up,  and  a  good  job, 
too.  He  had  no  more  heart  in  it  than  a 
piece  of  wood.  Mr.  Alexander  is  to  be  the 
papa  ;  he  does  it  splendidl3\' 

*  Oh,  come  now,  Miss  Hammond ' 

*  So  you  do.  But,  oh,  Katherine,  j-ou 
should  see  Bill  1  We've  got  a  flaxen  wig  for 
him — long  ringlets  hanging  down.  You'll 
die  of  laughing  when  you  see  him.' 

Katherine,  instead  of  parting  from  them 
in  the  porch,  sauntered  with  her  visitors  to 
the  orfirdon  sfate.  Jim  called  out  as  thcv 
drew  near,  '  Well,  what's  the  result  ?' 


KOT    all    in    VAIN'.  117 

'  Oh,  she's  coming,  of  course,'  Barbar<a 
called  back.  *  She  has  given  her  word  in 
the  presence  of  witnesses.  And  now  she's 
making  a  fuss  about  being  sent  for.  Of 
course  you'll  fetch  her,  some  of  you,  and  be 
glad  of  the  chance.' 

*  Rather,'  responded  Jim. 

Katherine  came  close  to  the  wheel  and 
looked  up  at  him. 

*  Will  you  come  for  me,  Jim  ?'  she  asked. 
They  all  heard  her,  and  smiled  amongst 
themselves. 

'  Wont  I  ?'  he  replied.  '  If  you'll  let  me. 
What  time  ?' 

*  About  eight,  I  suppose.' 

*  All  right.  I'll  be  at  your  door  at  eight, 
if  I'm  alive.' 

*  Thank  you.      Good-night,  everybody.' 

'  Good-night,'  they  cried  in  chorus.  *  A 
happy  Christmas,  Katherine.' 

As  the  carriage  rolled  av.ay  into  unin- 
habited darkness  some  of  its  smiling  occu- 
pants broke  into  audible  laughter.  Forbes 
Alexander  called  out  ga'^y,  *  Well,  Jim,  I 
hope  you  feel  flattered.' 


118  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

*  He  needn't/  Barbara  interposed.  *  It 
isn't  that  she  wants  him,  but  that  she  doesn't 
want  Neil.' 

'  Why,  I  thought  everybody  wanted  Neil,' 
said  Mr.  Thwaites,  who,  being  a  fine  figure 
of  a  n]an  himself,  was  a  little  jealous  of  his 
more  massive  rival. 

'  Not  Katherine.  He  used  to  torment 
her  when  she  was  a  child — lift  her  up  against 
her  will,  and  set  her  on  high  shelves,  and  so 
on — and  she  has  never  foro-iven  him.  It's 
most  amusing.  She  won't  sjDeak  to  him  if 
she  can  help  it.  But  he'll  circumvent  her 
all  the  same  ;  he'll  insist  on  fetching  her  in- 
stead of  you,  Jim.' 

*  He  won't,'  said  Jim  quietly. 

'  Why,  what  could  you  do  to  stop  him  ? 
My  poor  dear  boy,  if  Neil  chose  to  do  a 
thing,  he  would  do  it,  for  all  you.' 

'  Not  if  it  was  teasing  her.' 

*  Oh,  that's  Jim's  constant  cry,'  laughed 
Carry.  '  Don't  tease  her — don't  press  her — 
don't  ask  her  to  do  things — let  her  alone,  as 
if  she  were  a  weakly  baby,  instead  of  one  of 
the  most  strapping  and  strong-minded  young 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN,  119 

women   that   ever  stepped.      Jim,  you   owe 
me  a  pair  of  gloves.' 

*  Not  yet,  Garry.' 

*  What,  you  think  she  won't  come,  after 
all?' 

'  It's  an  even  chance  at  present.  Wait 
till  she  does  come  ;  then  I'll  give  you  half-a- 
dozen,  if  you  like.' 

Mr.  Alexander,  listening  to  all  this,  wished 
he  had  not  aired  his  opinion  so  freely  about 
Miss  Knowles  before  knowinsf  soniethins:  of 
her.  Clearly  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  sug- 
gesting that  she  was  one  of  those  persons 
whom  their  friends  felt  they  ought  to  be 
fond  of,  but  never  were.  With,  perhaps, 
the  exception  of  Miss  Carry,  whose  attitude 
was  doubtful,  all  seemed  fond  of  her.  He 
himself  was  conscious  of  a  tendency  that  way, 
and  a  disposition  to  side  with  Jim  in  pre- 
venting Xeil  from  teasing  hei*. 

*  I  thought  you  said  your  brother  liked 
her  so  nmch,'  he  remarked. 

*  I  don't  believe  it's  liking  a  bit,'  said 
Carry,  '  but  just  a  man's  perversity — just 
because  she  snubs  him.' 


120  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN'. 

A  young  lady  in  the  carriage,  Miss  Lena 
West,  thanked  Carry  for  this  hint.  '  I've 
been  wondering  what  I  cotild  do  to  find 
favour  with  Mr.  Neil,'  she  frankly  admitted. 
*  I  shall  at  once  begin  to  snub  him.' 

'  You  couldn't  rival  Katherine,'  said  Bar- 
bara. '  You  couldn't  do  it  as  thorousrhlv 
as  she  does.' 

'  You'd  think,'  Carry  continued, '  that  she 
had  been  the  spoiled  darling  of  half-a-dozen 
London  seasons,  and  that  Neil  was  a — a 
curate.  I  have  no  patience  with  her.  And 
I  wonder  how  he  can  bother  himself  to  try 
and  please  her,  as  he  does.' 

'  I  daresay,'  suggested  Miss  West  know- 
ingly, '  that  she  has  discovered  the  right  way 
of  manao'ino'  him ' 

'  There's  the  cutter,'  Jim  broke  in  roughl}', 
pointing  into  the  darkness  with  his  whip. 
'  They've  got  home.' 

No  one  else  could  see  the  cutter,  but  they 
exclaimed  with  delight  at  the  news,  and 
ura:ed  him  to  make  haste. 

*  What  a  cold  voyage  they  must  have  had  ! 
Oh,  the  darling,  I  hope  he  has  got  here  safe  I 


NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN.  121 

How  delicious  to  have  him  in  the  house 
again  !  Mr.  Alexander,  you've  never  seen 
our  bio"  brother — oh,  there  he  is  !  Neil  ! 
Xeil  !     How  are  you,  Neil  V 

The  house  door  was  open,  and  the  light 
within  revealed  the  figure  of  the  new-comer 
on  the  doorstep  ;  it  bellowed  an  answering 
greeting  that  might  have  been  heard  a  mile 
off,  '  Hullo  I  What  do  you  mean  by  not 
being  at  home  to  receive  me  ?' 

*  By  Jove,'  Alexander  muttered,  as  he  and 
Carry  rose  from  their  seats  together,  '  I  don't 
think  I  ever  knew  what  it  was  to  feel  small 
before.' 

'  He's  the  only  fellow^  I've  ever  met  that 
can  beat  me,'  laughed  Thwaites. 

Barbara's  lover  was  a  creditably  big  man, 
but  Neil  Hammond  was  a  giant.  His  size 
made  him  famous  wherever  he  was  known, 
and  his  athletic  powers  and  exploits,  com- 
bined with  what  is  called  a  hearty  disposi- 
tion, gave  him  an  immense  popularity  with 
his  young  contemporaries.  His  great  bulk 
was  finely  proportioned  at  present,  though  it 
was  evident  that  he  would  run  to  fat  early, and 


122  NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN. 

he  had  a  moderately  handsome,  ruddy,  rather 
animal  face.  His  voice  was  thick  and  jovial, 
he  swaggered  somewhat,  he  ate  and  drank 
largely,  and  he  was  the  pride  and  joy  of  the 
Hammond  family.  Tom,  the  elder,  a  simjDle 
fellow  of  the  sporting  farmer  type,  and  quiet, 
studious  Jim,  the  younger  of  the  three  grown 
sons  of  the  house,  had  to  hide  their  diminished 
heads  when  the  gallant  Xeil  came  home  ; 
and  they  did  so  cheerfully  and  as  a  matter 
of  course.  It  was  quite  a  natural  thing 
that  this  domestic  hero,  whose  attentions 
were  prized  by  so  man}'',  should  squander 
them  mainly  upon  Katherine  Knowles,  who 
from  her  earliest  childhood  had  feared  and 
hated  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  belated  church  decorators  scattered 
hastily  to  their  rooms  to  dress  for  dinner,  and 
reassembled  in  the  dining-room  one  by  one. 
There,  round  the  hospitable  table,  they  talked 
deafeningly,  all  at  once,  pouring  out  the 
news  to  Neil,  who  wanted  to  know  every- 
thing, and  particularly  how  Katherine  and 
her  father  were  a^ettinsf  on. 

'  What  do  you  think.  Doctor  Jim  ?'  he 
roared  at  his  brother,  who  sat  the  length  of 
the  table  from  him.  *  Is  the  old  fellow 
going  to  hold  out  through  another  winter  V 

*  I  should  say  not,'  replied  Jim,  *  if  it 
was  anybody  else.' 

*  I  suppose  you're  looking  after  Katherine, 
eh,  mother  ?  When  anything  happens,  you'll 
make  her  come  here  to  us  ?' 


124  NOT   ALL   IX    VAIX. 

'  Certainly,  my  dear,  if  possible,'  the  stout 
matron  responded.  '  Unfortunately,  it  isn't 
so  easy  to  make  Katherine  do  things.' 
Mrs.  Hammond  had  a  little  natural  Qfrudofe 
against  this  girl,  on  her  son's  behalf,  under 
her  overflowing  benevolence. 

'  I  like  her  for  it,'  said  the  grey-mous- 
tached  squire.  '  I  like  to  see  a  woman  with 
some  substance  in  her.' 

'  Plenty  of  suhstance,'  whispered  Carry  to 
her  neighbour,  Alexander. 

The  young  man  glanced  at  the  slight 
figure  of  the  speaker,  but  said  nothing. 

'  At  any  rate,  I've  made  her  do  one  thing 
that  we  wanted,'  said  Barbara  complacenth'. 
'  She  has  promised  to  come  on  Wednesday, 
if  her  father  is  no  worse.' 

'  What  ?  To  the  dance  ?  Well  done  !' 
Neil  flushed  in  triumph.  '  You'll  make  her 
stop  all  night.  Bee  ?' 

'  She  won't.  As  it  is  she'll  be  fido-etino- 
all  the  time  for  fear  her  father  should  die 
before  she  gets  back.' 

'  I'm  o'oino'  to  fetch  her  and  take  her 
home,'  said  Jim. 


NOT    ALL   IN    V^VIN.  125 

*'  Oh,  are  you  ?'  his  brother  retorted 
quickl}^,  with  rather  a  truculent  laugh. 

'  I  am,'  said  Jim. 

'  We'll  see  about  that,'  said  Neil.  And 
he  poured  himself  out  a  fifth  glass  of  wine 
and  became  very  uproarious.  But  it  was 
Christmas  Eve,  when  etiquette  demands  an 
uproar. 

'  Oh,  how  different  the  house  is  when  he 
is  in  it !'  the  adoring  family  exclaimed. 
'  How  he  du  'liven  us  up  !'  the  servants 
echoed.  '  No  being  dull  where  Master 
Neil  is.' 

There  was  no  dulness  that  ni<2flit  at  any 
rate.  The  traditional  '  Merrie  Christmas  ' 
of  the  illustrated  papers  was  fully  realised 
in  this  old  country  house,  to  the  immense 
satisfaction  of  the  Australian  visitor,  who 
had  never  quite  believed  in  it.  There  were 
games  in  the  hall  after  dinner,  and  snap- 
drajzons  for  the  children,  who  shrieked  with 
delight  ;  kisses  under  the  mistletoe,  of 
which  the  lion's  share  were  secured  by  Neil, 
who  was  no  respecter  of  persons,  and  was 
quite    prepared    to  take   by   force    what   he 


12G  NOT    ALL    IN    V^AIN. 

could  not  get  by  legitimate  stratagem. 
When  Miss  West,  in  jDursuance  of  her 
scheme  for  ingratiating  herself,  violently 
struggled  and  boxed  his  ears,  he  caught  her 
up  as  if  she  had  been  a  baby  and  set  her  on 
the  high  chimney-piece,  where  she  squealed 
helplessly,  with  her  pretty  toes  dangling  in 
the  air,  to  the  ecstatic  joy  of  the  onlookers. 
It  occurred  to  Alexander  that  the  biof  man 
had  taken  a  little  more  wine  than  was  2'ood 

o 

for  him,  and  presumed  upon  his  privileges 
as  a  hero,  but  no  one  else  appeared  to  think 
so.  Even  the  old  father,  who  was  a  born 
afentleman,  chuckled  at  this  manifestation  of 
what  was  called  '  Neil's  fun  ';  and  though 
the  mother,  shaking  like  a  jelh',  declared  he 
was  *  too  bad  altogether,'  it  was  quite 
evident  that  she  didn't  mean  it.  Even  Miss 
West  herself  was  not  really  indignant. 

'  You  wretch,'  she  exclaimed.  '  You 
Jierid  !  Take  me  down  !  Mr.  Tom — Mr. 
Jim — save  me  from  him  !  How  can  3'ou 
stand  there  and  see  a  helpless  woman  treated 
in  this  way !'  But  her  anger  was  all 
affectation. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VA[X.  127 

Neil  towered  before  her,  and  swept  her 
would-be  rescuers  behind  him. 

'  You  shall  come  down  when  you  promise 
to  give  me  a  kiss,'  he  cried,  so  that  all  the 
household  could  hear  him,  including  the  ser- 
vants on  the  stairs. 

*  I  won't  give  you  a  kiss,'  she  protested. 
'  I'll  die  first; 

*  Then  stop  where  you  are.' 

Jim's  smile  was  not  one  of  merriment,  and 
Alexander  did  not  smile  at  all. 

*  You  don't  admire  this  sort  of  horseplay,' 
said  Jim,  approaching  his  friend. 

*  Oh,  yes,  I  do,'  said  Alexander  ;  *  I  think 
it's  a  perfectly  delightful  evening.' 

*  You  don't  look  particularly  delighted.' 
'Well,  the    fact    is  I   was  just   trying  to 

magine  Miss  Knowles  in  that  })osition.' 
Jim  was  silent  for    a  minute.      Then  he 

said  slowly  :     '  You  don't  wonder   that  she 

shuns  him  ?' 

'No.      But  I  do  wonder  at  your  brother's 

want  of  discrimination.' 

'  Katherine   was  fifteen   when    lie    j)layed 

her  that  trick.' 


128  A'OT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

'  I  should  think  it  would  have  been  the 
same  if  she  had  been  five.' 

'  Yes.' 

Jim  did  not  want  to  pursue  the  subject, 
and  walked  away.  Miss  West  made  terms 
of  surrender  and  was  released,  and  the  gay 
riot  proceeded  until  the  waits  came  up  from 
the  villaofe  and  sano-  their  carols  under  the 
windows,  and  were  brought  in  to  warm 
themselves  at  the  hall  fire  while  they  con- 
sumed mince-pies  and  beer  and  hot  elderberry 
wine.  After  that  the  children  retired  to 
hang  up  their  stockings  for  Santa  Claus, 
and  the  old  folks  stealthily  follo^\•ed  them, 
and  the  young  men  and  maidens  lingered 
toGfether  to  talk  nonsense,  as  their  manner 
is,  regardless  of  the  flight  of  time.  And 
at  last,  when  the  church  bells  were  heard  at 
midnight,  they  too  scattered  to  bed,  wishing 
each  other  a  happy  Christmas  as  they 
went. 

Christmas  morning  brought  tlie  excite- 
ment of  presents  on  the  breakfast  plates — 
presents  clandestinely  prepared,  and  supposed 
to  come  as  a  complete  surprise  to  the  recipi- 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  129 

ents,  who  knew  all  about  them  ;  and  the 
usual  Sunday  aspect  supervened.  The  large 
party  went  to  church,  some  on  foot,  some  in 
the  family  cairiage  ;  the  walking  ladies  in 
bright  petticoats,  with  dark  skirts  looped  up 
above  them,  as  was  the  convenient  muddy- 
road  fashion  of  those  days.  Neil  was  not  a 
regular  church-goer,  but  he  accompanied  his 
family  on  this  occasion  to  please  his  mother^ 
to  see  the  decorations,  and  to  meet  Kath- 
erine  Knowles — who  was  not  there.  In  her 
pew  he  only  saw  the  maiden  aunt,  a  conser- 
vative person  of  the  worldly-pious  stamp, 
wearing  a  gorgeous  bonnet  over  her  obvious 
wig  and  pensively  attitudinising,  with  her 
head  on  one  side.  Like  ninety-nine  out  of 
every  hundred  women  who  had  the  honour 
of  his  acquaintance,  she  admired  the  second 
Hammond  son  immensely,  and  fluttered  with 
pleasure  when  he  intentionally  waylaid  her 
after  church. 

'  Merry  Christmas,  Miss  Freeman  !  Glad 
to  see  you  again  ! '  he  shouted,  nearly 
wringing  her  feeble  hand  off".  *  Where's 
Katherine  this  morning?' 

VOL.  I.  9 


130  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

'  Merry  Christmas  to  you,  Mr.  Neil,  and 
delighted  to  see  you  looking  so  well  !' — 
'handsomer  than  ever,' said  her  coquettish  old 
eyes.  '  Oh,  my  niece  is  obstinate,  as  usual. 
I  said  to  her,  "  My  dear,  if  you  can  leave 
3^our  father  for  two  hours  while  you  amuse 
yourself  with  trifles  "  ' — she  indicated  the 
decorations  with  a  disparaging  hand — '  *'  you 
can  surely  leave  him  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
for  the  purpose  of  worshipijing  God."  I  was 
quite  ready  to  sacrifice  myself  that  she 
might  have  the  privilege  she  is  so  often  of 
necessity  dej^rived  of  But  no;  she  would 
not  stir  from  his  side.' 

'  What  nonsense  !  I  was  hoping  we 
might  get  her  to  come  up  to-night  to  look  at 
the  children's  tree.  She  took  such  an  in- 
terest, they  tell  me,  in  making  things  for  it.' 

*  She  won't,  Mr.  Neil  ;  it  is  no  use  to  ask 
her.  Havino'  consented  to  sfo  out  on  Wed- 
nesday,  she'll  stay  in  till  then,  I  know.  In 
vain  I  tell  her  that  I  am  (jw'te  equal  to  the 
charge  of  my  brother-in-law.  And  I  am 
sure  he  would  enjoij  a  little  quiet  talk  with 
me  sometimes.      He  has  said  as  much.' 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  131 

'Anybody  would  enjoy  it,'  said  the  gallanL 
Neil.  '  Look  here,  Miss  Freeman,  suppose 
I  come  down  to-night  on  the  chance  ?  If  she 
wouldn't  come  up,  perhaps  you  would,  eh  V 

Miss  Freeman  declined  this  offer  with 
grateful  thanks.  She  was  sure  her  niece 
would  not  be  persuaded,  and  as  for  herself, 
she  was  an  old-fashioned  person — she  liked 
to  spend  Chrismas  as  a  holy  day  and  not  a 
holiday.  So  Neil  went  home  rather  grum])y, 
and  with  a  settled  determination  to  o-et  the 
better  of  Katherine  somehow. 

The  Christmas  dinner  was  celebrated  in 
the  middle  of  the  day,  so  as  to  include  the 
whole  family,  big  and  little ;  it  lasted  for 
the  best  part  of  two  hours,  after  which 
an  interval  of  repose  was  imperative.  At 
nightfall  the  victims  revived,  and  pulled 
themselves  together  with  large  doses  of  tea  ; 
then  they  had  more  tea,  with  a  superfluously 
abundant  cold  collation,  crowned  by  the 
many-tiered  Christmas  cake.  The  Cliristmas- 
tree  made  the  evenin<j  sflorious,  and  the 
exigencies  of  digestion,  combined  with  an 
irresistible  feeling  that  it   was  like  Sunday 


132  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

after  all,  sent  the  whole  party  to  their  beds 
at  an  early  hour. 

The  next  day  was  really  Sunday,  and 
realising  this,  there  was  a  disposition  on  the 
part  of  several  to  question  the  justice  of  its 
demands  under  all  the  circumstances  ;  they 
were  felt  to  be  premature,  to  say  the  least. 
Neil  lay  in  bed  till  nearly  lunch  time,  and 
yawns  were  prevalent  amongst  those  who 
did  not.  It  was  as  near  an  approach  to  a 
dull  day  as  the  Hammonds  ever  knew  in 
holiday  time. 

But  Monday  came  and  life  resumed  its 
festive  activity.  The  men  went  out  to 
shoot  and  to  fish  for  pike,  and  to  do  errands 
for  the  girls,  who  were  plunged  in  their 
nmltitudinous  preparations  for  the  great 
Wednesday.  There  were  decorations  again, 
rehearsals  for  the  play,  stage  furniture  to 
contrive,  the  supper  arrangements  to  attend 
to  ;  insonmch  that  Alexander,  finding  him- 
self in  urgent  request,  half  regretted  that 
he  had  promised  to  repeat  his  call  upon 
Major  Knowles  so  soon.  He  might  justifi- 
ably have  excused  himself  this  time,  and  was 


NOT    ALL    IN    V^AIN.  133 

adjured  by  the  young  ladies  to  do  so  ;  but 
there  was  an  attraction  at  Weep  Hall  now, 
and  he  was  faithful  to  his  plighted  word. 
'  I  promised  to  go  and  tell  them  about 
their  relatives  in  Australia,'  he  pleaded  to 
Carry,  when  she  pouted  at  his  desertion 
of  her,  *  and  a  promise  is  a  promise,  you 
know.' 

'  Then  I  shall  go  with  you,'  she  declared, 
throwinor  down  the  staofe  curtain  on  which 
she  was  engaged. 

*  Do,'  he  ursred.  *  The  walk  will  refresh 
you.' 

She  flew  to  put  on  her  things,  and  re- 
turned with  Mrs.  Tom,  who  had  kindly 
volunteered  as  chaperon.  One  of  the 
school-girls  thought  she  would  like  to  go 
too,  and  Mrs.  Tom  considered  four  a  better 
number  than  three.  So  they  set  forth  in  a 
party,  two  and  two,  the  latter  pair  leading 
vigorously,  and  the  potential  lovers  bringing 
up  the  rear.  Mrs.  Tom  was  very  stylish  in 
full  paniers  and  a  Grecian  bend,  with  a  small 
hat  slanting  from  the  top  of  her  chignon  to 
the   tip   of  her  nose  ;  Carry   was   certainly 


134  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIX. 

lovely  ill  her  sealskin  jacket,  which  ended  at 
the  waist,  her  red  petticoat,  and  her  little 
pork-pie  toque.  Her  fashionably  distended 
hair  gleamed  in  the  gray  twilight,  like  a 
globe  of  light,  and  her  face  was  like  a  flower 
on  the  winter  landsca])e. 

But  when  they  reached  Weep  Hall  the 
comparatively  colourless  Miss  Knowles  put 
the  beauty  of  the  Hammond  famil}?"  into 
the  shade.  Alexander  sat  between  father 
and  daughter,  while  the  aunt  withdrew  his 
companions  from  the  vicinity  of  the  invalid, 
for  whom  one  visitor  at  a  time  was  a  little 
more  than  enough  ;  and,  as  he  chatted  about 
the  Andersons,  answering  all  her  frank  and 
quiet  questions,  he  became  more  and  more 
impressed  with  the  fact  that  Katherine  was 
extremely  interesting.  She  had  none  of 
the  airs  and  graces,  the  superficial  brightness, 
of  conventional  girlhood,  and  yet  she  was 
singularly  vivid  in  her  more  substantial  ^va3^ 
He  himself  was  an  intelligent  man,  who  had 
achieved  some  distinction  at  school  and 
college,  and  read  and  travelled  with  a  recep- 
tive   mind ;     he    was    beyond   the   stage   at 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  135 

which  an  empty-headed  prettiness  could 
satisfy  him.  Wliile  generally  susceptible  to 
female  charms  of  all  khids,  he  particularly 
delighted  in  a  companionable  female  mind 
associated  with  a  body  that  was  fairly 
worthy  of  it.  Even  outwardly  she  grew 
upon  him,  with  her  fine  physical  synnuetry 
and  her  strong,  frank  face  ;  inwardly  he 
found  her  full  of  pleasant  surprises.  In 
spite  of  her  restricted  life,  she  knew  what 
was  going  on  in  the  world  as  well  as  he  did ; 
she  had,  moreover,  read  the  things  he  had — 
things  political  and  social,  whicli  were  not  in 
the  line  of  women's  interests  in  those  days 
as  they  are  now.  Intimations  of  her  fami- 
liarity with  questions  of  the  time  fell  from 
her  unconsciously  in  the  course  of  a  conversa- 
tion which  he  sustained  with  the  same 
sincerity  and  seriousness  as  if  talking  with  a 
man.  Yet  she  was  very  modest  and  simple. 
One  could  infer  the  father  from  the  child,  he 
thought,  and  he  said  as  much. 

*  We  march  together,  in  a  general  way,' 
she  replied,  smiling,  '  and  we  discuss  every- 
thing.     But     we     don't     necessarily    agree. 


136  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

There  are  many  ways  in  which,  he  says,  I 
show  that  I  am  younger  than  he  is.' 

'Naturally,'  said  the  young  man.  But  he 
did  not  quite  grasp  her  meaning. 

After  a  while  she  turned  aside  to  converse 
with  Carry,  who  had  been  sitting  in  discon- 
tented silence  between  the  two  groups  ;  and 
Alexander  looked  with  interest  at  some 
books  that  Avere  lying  on  a  table  near  him. 
One  was  a  recently  published  edition  of 
Clough's  poems,  which  as  yet  he  had  only 
heard  of  and  not  seen.  Turning  over  the 
leaves  he  found  hei'  name  written  on  the 
title-page,  and  under  it,  '  From  J.  H.'  Who, 
he  asked  himself  quickly,  was  'J.  H.'  ?  And 
he  divined  at  once  that  it  was  James  Ham- 
mond. This  set  him  thinking.  A  few 
minutes  later  Katherine  passed  the  table  to 
perform  some  little  office  for  her  father,  and, 
without  seeming  to  be  aware  that  he  had 
noticed  it,  quietly  removed  the  book  and 
slipped  it  into  her  work-basket,  which  she 
set  away  in  a  dark  corner.  And  this  increased 
his  curiosity. 

But  now  Mi's.  Tom  Hammond  rose  from 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  137 

an  interesting  whispered  dialogue  with  Miss 
Freeman,  and  asked  him,  rather  to  his  confu- 
sion, whether  he  intended  to  stay  there  all 
night  ;  and  the  pleasant  visit  was  over- 
The  little  party  took  a  quiet  leave  of  the 
invalid,  one  by  one,  and  Katherine  lighted 
them  through  the  vault-like  hall  to  the  iron- 
studded  oak  door.  No  one  had  spoken  to 
her  of  Neil's  return,  and  she  never  once 
alluded  to  him — Alexander  noticed  that. 
But  no  sooner  had  the  little  party  gained 
the  road,  leaving  the  house  closed  behind 
them,  than  they  met  the  giant  hurling  down 
the  sloppy  footpath  with  the  evident  inten- 
tion of  joining  them  in  their  call  upon  her. 

*  Why,  what  are  you  in  such  a  hurry 
about  V  he  called  roughly. 

'  Hurry  !'  echoed  Mrs.  Tom.  '  We've 
been  there  a  full  hour,  at  the  very  least,  and 
shall  have  all  we  can  do  to  get  home  in  time 
for  dinner.' 

*  Mr.  Alexander  is  so  fascinated  with 
Katherine  that  he  can't  drag  himself  away 
from  her,'  added  Carry,  with  rather  a  foolish 
giggle. 


138  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

Neil  wanted  to  know  why  they  hadn't 
told  him  they  were  going,  and  was  obviously 
put  out  by  his  ill-luck  in  being  five  minutes 
too  late  for  the  privilege  they  might  have 
procured  for  him,  which  he  found  so  difficult 
to  get  for  himself ;  then,  turning  back  with 
them,  he  walked  for  awhile  without  speaking 
at  Alexander's  side.  As  there  was  not 
room  on  the  footpath  for  three  abreast, 
Carry  joined  her  sister-in-law  in  front. 

Presently  Neil  said  abruptly,  '  You  were 
there  on  Friday,  weren't  you  V 

Alexander  did  not  like  the  tone,  and 
replied,  rather  stiffly,  that  he  was. 

'  That  young  lady,'  proceeded  Neil,  after 
a  further  interval  of  silence,  '  is  my  future 
wife.      I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  as  later.' 

'  Indeed  I'  his  companion  responded  coldly, 
though  considerably  taken  aback.  *  I 
understood  that  she  was  not  engaged.' 

'  No  more  she  is.    But  I  mean  to  have  her.' 

*  You  can't  have  her  if  she  won't  have  you.' 

'  She  will  have  me.  I'm  onl}"  waiting  till 
her  father  is  dead,'  said  Neil. 

The    Australian    was    a     fairly    discreet 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  139 

young  fellow,  and  he  thought  it  best  to  say 
no  more.  But,  naturally,  the  effect  of 
Neil's  arrogant  declaration  was  to  create  a 
rival  on  the  spot  of  one  who  otherwise 
might  never  have  been  dangerous. 

'  Why,'  said  Alexander  to  himself,  with 
the  proper  spirit  of  a  man,  'why  should  he 
have  her  any  more  than  I  ?' 


CHAPTEK  IX. 

Neil  had  declared  that  he  and  no  one  else 
should  fetch  Katherine  to  the  ball,  but  when 
it  came  to  the  point  he  knew  better  than 
to  do  anything  so  foolish.  He  reserved 
himself  for  the  opportunities  that  he  foresaw 
would  follow  her  arrival  at  the  house,  and 
Jim  was  allowed  to  go  forth  to  Weep  Hall 
unmolested.  As  the  night  was  clear,  he 
ordered  his  dog-cart,  into  which  he  put  all 
the  rugs  and  wraps  that  he  could  lay  hands 
on,  and  drove  himself,  with  a  stable-boy  on 
the  back  seat. 

He  found  the  major  tucked  up  in  bed,  in 
his  warm  chamber  adjoining  the  sitting- 
room  where  he  still  lived  in  the  middle  of 
the  day;  Katherine  had  wheeled  him  in  and 
superintended     his     painful     evening    toilet 


NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN.  141 

before  beginning  on  her  own.  Now,  in  her 
contiguous  bedroom,  whence  she  watched 
over  him  by  night,  she  was  hastily  dressing 
herself,  while  Miss  Freeman  and  the  house- 
maid looked  at  her. 

The  old  woman,  Lydia,  admitted  the 
young  man,  and  took  him  at  once  to  her 
master's  bedside.  It  was  evident  from  the 
greeting  he  received  that  he  was  no  stranger 
there.  He  sat  down,  and  asked  gently, 
*  How  do  you  feel  to-night,  sir  ?' 

*  Between  ourselves,  I  feel  I'm  pretty 
well  used  up,  Jim,'  was  the  faint  answer,  for 
the  getting  to  bed  had  been  exhausting,  and 
the  effect  of  supper  to  drench  him  in  a 
distressing  perspiration.  *  I  begin  to  find  it 
too  much  trouble  to  couffh.' 

'  You  must  try  to  fight  against  that,'  said 
Jim.  '  What's  old  Heath  giving  you  now  ?' 
He  walked  to  the  chimney-piece  and  opened 
one  or  two  bottles  from  the  row  standing 
there,  sniffing  and  tasting  their  contents 
thoughtfully.  Then  he  returned  to  the  bed- 
side. After  a  short  interval,  during  which 
he  noted    the   ineffectual    cough,   and   some 


142  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

other  new  signs  that  had  their  meaning  for 
the  initiated,  he  said  with  a  grave  frankness 
that  indicated  the  sincere  character  of  both  : 
'  You'll  tell  me  if  there's  anything  you  want 
me  to  do  for  you  ?  I  am  not  going  back 
just  yet; 

*  I  wish  you  could  see  me  through,'  said 
the  invalid.  '  If  I've  got  to  give  in,  I 
should  like  to  do  it  decently,  and  not  make 
a  disgusting  spectacle  of  myself  for  poor 
Kathy  to  remember.  I  wish  you  were 
my  doctor,  Jim — you  might  help  me  in 
that.' 

'  I'll  help  you  all  I  can,  sir,'  said  Jim 
simply. 

'A  comfortable  opiate,  my  boy — that 
ouQfht  to  be  the  treatment  for  the  last  staoe. 
Jim,  the  thinof  I  wish  above  all  others  is 
that  you  were  ni}^  son.' 

'  You  can't  wish  it  as  I  do,'  the  vounsf 
man  replied. 

*  I  have  been  wondering  whether  it  would 
be  right  or  wrong  to  speak  to  her ' 

*  Wrong,'  Jim  broke  in  quickly. 

*  Would  it  ?     You  can't  think  how  thank- 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  143 

full}'  I'd  die  if  I  could  know  she  had  you  to 
take  care  of  her.' 

'  Well,  she  has.  I'm  going  to  take  care 
of  her,  to  the  best  of  my  power,' 

'  Your  jiower  won't  be  much,  unless  she 
marries  you.' 

'  But  she  mustn't  marry  me  to  please  you. 
Indeed,  she  wouldn't — even  for  you  she 
wouldn't.  She  must  do  it  to  please  herself. 
And,  so  far,  the  idea  hasn't  come  into  her 
head.' 

*  I  should  say  that  was  your  fault.  It's 
your  business  to  put  it  there,  isn't  it  ?  Why, 
in  my  young  days ' 

*  Yes,  I  know — don't  talk  and  tire  your- 
self I  say  nothing  because  I  see  she  looks 
on  me  as  a  brother,  which  makes  it  useless, 
don't  you  know.  I  have  been  like-  her 
brother  since  she  was  a  child,  and — and  it's 
better  to  be  that  than  nothing.  By-and-by 
it  may  grow  to  something  more  —  if  it 
doesn't  it  won't  be  my  fault.  Either  way, 
my  life  is  hers.' 

*  It  wnll  come  right,  please  God,'  mur- 
mured the  dying  man.      *  Only  3'ou  mustn't 


144  NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN. 

in  the  meantime  let  her  fall  into  Xeil's 
hands.' 

'  She'll  never  allow  herself  to  do  that.' 
'  A  girl  is  very  helpless  without  father  or 
mother.' 

'  Not  Katherine,  She  won't  be  helpless.' 
*  Oh,  she's  a  woman,  after  all.  Women 
are  always  at  a  disadvantage  with  men  like 
him.  He  would  have  no  scruples.  Jim, 
until  you  have  done  your  course,  and  got 
established  for  yourself,  she'd  better  go  to 
Australia  to  her  sister.' 

'  Whatever  she  decides  herself — that  is 
sure  to  be  the  best,'  said  the  young  man 
gently.  '  Don't  worry  about  her — don't  talk 
any  more  now.  I'll  come  down  again,  when 
you  feel  fresh.  Let  her  see  you  quiet  and 
comfortable  before  she  ofoes.  She'll  be 
here  directly.' 

He  rose  and  poured  out  a  dose  of  medicine, 
and  brought  it  to  the  panting  man.  Soon 
after  takinof  it  he  begfan  to  cousfh  with  the 

o  o  o 

extra  power  it  had  given  him,  and  Jim  lifted 
him  in  his  arms.  He  was  a  mere  skeleton 
covered  with  parchment  skin,  patched  here 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  145 

and  there  with  plaster  where  a  joint  had  pro- 
truded, and  the  way  his  shirt  hung  upon  the 
bony  prominences  was  ghastly.  His  one  leg 
was  puffed  with  dropsy,  and  the  withered 
stump  of  the  other,  long  a  stranger  to  tlie 
wooden  bucket  in  which  he  had  gallantly 
stumped  about  for  so  many  years,  offered 
still  more  significant  evidence  of  the  rapid 
disorganisation  going  on.  The  young  medical 
student  said  nothing,  but  the  sufferer  read 
his  thoughts. 

*  Getting  about  time  to  give  up  now,  isn't 
it,  Jim  ?' 

'  Almost,'  said  Jim. 

*  But  not  to-night — not  for  a  week  or  two 
yet,  Jim.  We  won't  spoil  a  merry  Christmas 
if  we  can  help  it.  Lay  me  down,  my  boy — 
I  feel  easier  now.' 

Jim  laid  him  down,  and  Katherine  came 
into  the  room. 

'  Oh,  Jim,  I  am  so  sorry  to  have  kept  you 
waiting,  but  I  am  ready  now,'  she  said  hur- 
riedly. *  Are  you  all  light,  father  ?  I  heard 
you  coughing,' 

'  As   right   as    possible,    my    girl.       That 

VOL.  I.  10 


146  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

cough  has  reheved  me.  Heath  has  hit  on 
the  right  stuff  this  time-^clears  my  chest 
splendidly.  Tell  him,  if  you  see  him,  that  I 
am  much  better  to-night.' 

Jim  rose  to  hurry  her  awa}'  before  she 
could  see  the  reaction  from  this  little  out- 
burst. '  He  really  is  much  easier,'  he  said  ; 
*  he  will  sleep  till  you  get  back.' 

At  her  father's  request,  she  opened  her 
cloak  to  show  him  her  white  gown,  and  her 
fair  full  throat  with  a  string  of  old  pearls 
round  it ;  then  she  kissed  his  bony  forehead 
lingeringly,  as  if  she  could  not  bear  to  leave 
him,  and  was  beguiled  from  the  room. 

'  How  do  you  think  he  is  ?'  she  whispered, 
when  they  reached  the  hall. 

*  Easier,'  said  Jim  again. 

'  He  doesn't  seem  to  cough  so  much,  does 
he?' 

'  No  ;  his  cough  is  less.  Give  me  your 
slippers,  Katherine.' 

*  Is  it  a  bad  sign,  Jim  V 

'  Nothing  is  bad  that  means  ease  fi'om 
pain,'  he  answered  evasively.  *  But  look 
here,  Katherine,  if  /  were  his  medical  attend- 


^OT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  147 

ant,  I  should  say,  don't  encourage  him  to 
make  such  efforts  as  he  does — persuade  him 
to  keep  in  bed  for  a  bit.  It  would  conserve 
his  strength — sf\,ve  him  a  lot.' 

*  He's  afraid  to  begin  it,'  said  Katherine, 
*  lest  he  should  never  be  able  to  get  up 
again.' 

'  Oh,  don't  mind  about  that.  He'd  feel 
much  better.  You  try  it  to-morrow  morning. 
He  can  lie  in  the  sitting-room,  all  the  same, 
if  he  likes  that  best.  I'm  going  to  write  for 
a  water-bed  for  him.  Then  he'll  be  as  com- 
fortable as  possible.' 

'  How  good  you  are  !' .  she  ejaculated 
heartily.  '  And  he  has  such  faith  in  your 
medical  knowledge — you  don't  know  what 
he  says  of  you.  I  wish  you'd  come  and  see 
him  oftener,  Jim.' 

*  I'll  come  every  day,  if  I  may,  as  long  as 
I'm  at  home,'  he  returned  promptly. 

*  Do.  You  always  cheer  him — and  me 
too.' 

Jim  did  not  exult  at  this  flattering  tribute, 
but  he  was  glad  to  know  that  he  had  done  a 
service  to  both  father  and  daughter  in  sparing 


148  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

the   former  the  task  of  confessing  that  he 
could  no  longer  leave  his  bqd. 

Miss  Freeman  came  to  the  door  to  see  her 
niece  depart,  and  to  exhort  her  to  have  no 
concern  whatever  on  the  invahd's  account. 
Jim  helped  her  into  the  dog-cart,  and  rolled 
her  with  clumsy  tenderness  in  his  numerous 
rugs. 

*  I  hope  your  dress  isn't  one  of  the 
crushing  sort,'  he  remarked,  after  crushing  it 
as  flat  as  possible.  '  I  thought  you'd  rather 
have  the  dog-cart  than  the  carriage.' 

'  Much  rather,'  she  replied.  '  And  my 
dress  won't  crush — it's  silk.  In  point  of  fact, 
it's  the  same  dress  I  wore  at  your  coming  of 
age.      I  hadn't  time  to  get  another.' 

*  You  could  never  get  another  to  suit  you 
better,'  he  rejoined,  remembering  how  beau- 
tiful he  thought  her  in  that  soft  and  simple 
robe,  which  set  oft*  her  figure  so  wonderfully. 
'  That's  over  two  years  ago,  Katherine.' 

'  It  is,'  she  laughed.  '  But,  happity,  it 
was  not  so  much  in  the  fashion  then  as  to  be 
hopelessly  out  of  it  now.' 

'  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,'  he  said. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  141) 

The}^  did  not  talk  much  on  the  way, 
Katherine  being-  adjured  to  keep  her  mouth 
covered  from  the  cold  air  ;  but  when  the 
illuminated  house  appeared  before  them  she 
shook  her  face  out  of  the  shawl  he  had 
swathed  round  it  to  discuss  the  question  of 
her  return  home.  '  I  don't  want  your  father's 
horses  and  men  brought  out  again,'  she  began, 
and  he  instantly  interrupted  her. 

*  Only  one  horse,  Katherine,  and  that  my 
own  ;  and  no  man  at  all  unless  you  like — 
except  me.  Me  you  must  put  up  with,  in 
any  case.' 

'  Not  necessarily.  If  I  can  find  anyone 
coming  away  early  who  can  conveniently 
take  me,  T  should  prefer  that.' 

'  Would  you  ?      Then  we'll  find  somebody.' 

*  But  if  not — for  I  can't  leave  my  father 
a  whole  night — if  I  must  depend  on  your 
kindness — you  will  come  with  me  yourself  f 

'  That's  understood,'  he  replied,  *of  course.' 

*  I  hate  to  put  people  to  so  much  trouble, 
but  I  know  you  don't  feel  it  a  trouble,  Jim.' 

*  I'm  very  glad  you  do  know  that,  Kathe- 
rine.' 


150  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

The  usual  quiet  road  was  alive  with 
vehicles,  from  the  carriages  of  the  county 
families,  including  that  of  a  much  revered 
local  nobleman  and  his  party,  to  the  gigs  and 
sociables  of  the  superior  farmers  ;  the  drive 
was  full  of  them  going  and  coming,  and  the 
front  entrance  of  the  house  crowded  with 
arriving  guests.  So  Jim  took  a  back  way 
to  the  stable -yard,  and  quietly  introduced 
Katherine  by  a  side  door.  She  ran  up  to 
Barbara's  room,  to  shake  herself  out  and  put 
on  her  gloves  and  slippers  ;  having  done 
which,  she  was  privileged  to  assist  at  the 
toilets  of  the  actors,  who  were  in  the  aofonies 
of  their  final  preparations.  Carry  was  got 
up  as  a  most  charming  '  slavey '  in  pink 
print,  with  a  white  cap  and  apron,  and  was 
being  supported  under  a  threatened  attack  of 
stage  fright  by  Mr.  Alexander,  who,  in  the 
short -waisted  and  tight -sleeved  coat  that 
Squire  Hammond  had  been  married  in  about 
forty  years  previously,  still  managed  to  look 
graceful  and  self-possessed.  Barbara  was 
gorgeous  in  modern  costume,  and  the  huge 
Thwaites   quite  as  killing  as  had  been  ex- 


NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN.  151 

pected.  He  had  been  discovered  at  an 
earliei"  stage  trying  to  dress  himself — putting 
on  his  skirts  at  the  wrong  end,  and  hauHng 
them  up  as  he  did  his  trousers,  whereby 
stitches  had  '  given,'  and  things  in  general 
been  put  out  of  gear  ;  but  Mrs.  Tom  had 
taken  him  in  hand,  and  turned  him  out  as  he 
should  be  ;  and  nothing  was  necessary  to 
ensure  him  the  honours  of  the  night  but  that 
he  should  live  up  to  his  appearance  in  the 
matter  of  acting.  Now  Mrs.  Tom  was  down- 
stairs, helping  her  mother-in-law  to  receive, 
and  the  rest  of  the  non-performing  members 
of  the  family  had  been  driven  off  as  useless 
hindrances.  Katherine,  who  was  sensible 
and  clever  and  an  intimate  of  the  house,  was 
implored  to  assist  in  the  green-room  during 
the  progress  of  the  play,  and  readily  con- 
sented, to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the 
Australian  guest. 

He  was  quite  definitely  in  love  by  this 
time,  being,  as  we  have  before  remarked,  a 
rapidly  susceptible  young  man.  The  sight  of 
lier  in  her  white  silk  dress,  forgetting  her 
troubles  for  the  moment  to  laugh  at  the  pre- 


152  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

posterous  Thwaites,  had  the  effect  of  inducing 
this  condition,  to  which  Neil  had  so  strongly 
predisposed  him.  The  plain,  glove-fitting 
robe,  low  at  the  neck  and  trailing  on  the 
floor,  was  the  most  effective  garment  that 
was  ever  contrived  for  making  the  best  of  a 
beautiful  figure  ;  and  the  sparkle  of  gaiety 
in  her  striking  face  suggested  an  all-round 
completeness  of  human  charm  that  had  been 
wanting,  though  he  had  not  noticed  it,  in  his 
first  impression  of  her.  Pretty  Carry,  who 
had  simply  nothing  in  her,  had  almost 
ceased  to  interest  him,  in  sjDite  of  her  cajD  and 
apron.  But  his  manners  were  so  good,  and 
her  vanity  so  strong,  that  she  was  not  yet 
aware  of  it,  though  vaguely  suspicious. 

They  all  repaired  to  the  school-room, 
which  was  in  the  state  of  chaos  usual  in  a 
place  not  required  for  com]:)any  on  the  night 
of  the  ball,  the  procession  led  by  Little 
Toddles,  who  insisted  on  exercising  the  privi- 
leges of  his  assumed  sex  in  a  ridiculous 
manner  chiefly  b}^  kissing  '  the  pa^^a,'  who 
strongly  objected  to  the  proceeding. 

*  Don't  be  more  of  a  fool  than  you  can 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  153 

help,  Thwaites,'  he  was  provoked  into  saying, 
when  his  sup])osecl  child  tried  to  sit  upon  his 
knee.  But  Katherine  cried  out ;  *  Let  him 
— let  him  !  A  little  foolishness  more  or 
less  when  he's  so  transcendently  foolish  al- 
ready  '      And  she  was  interrupted  by  a 

shriek  from  Alexander,  as,  incited  by  her 
indulgent  attitude,  seventeen  stone  came 
down  with  all  its  weight  upon  his  legs. 

They  were  as  merry  and  silly  as  so  many 
children,  and  shiveringly  excited  over  the 
ordeal  that  was  now  so  near,  when  suddenly 
Neil  burst  in  upon  them,  red-faced  and  reso- 
lute, on  the  hunt  for  Katherine. 

'  Oh,  there  you  are  !'  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
deep  tone  of  triumph,  such  as  might  have 
become  a  detective  officer  who  had  run  a 
clever  criminal  to  earth.  *  How-do-you-do, 
Katherine  ?'  He  held  out  his  hand,  which 
she  touched  coldl}',  drawing  herself  up  witli 
a  sudden  stateliness  that  was  pleasing  to  wit- 
ness from  the  Australian's  point  of  view. 
'  I  have  come  to  fetch  you  to  the  ball-room. 
AH  the  audience  is  seated  by  this  time.' 

'  I  am  not  going  to  the    ball-room,'  she 


154  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

replied.  '  I  am  going  to  stay  to  help  them 
here.' 

'  We  shall  never  get  through  without 
Miss  Knowles  to  hearten  us,'  said  Alexander. 
'  We  are  all  in  a  blue  funk  as  it  is.'  And 
Thwaites  declared  that  they  couldn't  do 
without  her  anyhow. 

'  Well,  you'll  have  to  try,'  said  Xeil 
coolly.  '  I'm  not  going  to  have  her  stuck 
away  here,  when  we  get  her  so  seldom.  I'll 
send  you  some  chamjoagne  to  hearten  you. 
And  Esther  will  be  round  in  a  minute.' 

When  the  sisters  saw  that  it  was  dear 
Neil's  wish  to  have  her,  they  surrendered  her 
at  once,  Carry  being  particularly  generous  in 
the  matter  ;  and,  too  proud  to  make  a  fuss, 
and  feeling  protected  in  the  crowded  house 
from  what  she  dreaded  most,  Katherine 
silently  submitted  to  be  led  away. 

'  Give  me  the  first  dance,  Miss  Knowles,' 
called  Alexander  after  her. 

'  And  me  the  second,'  shouted  Thwaites. 

*  With  pleasure,'  she  answered,  almost  in 
the  same  breath. 

Neil    banged   the   school-room  door,   and 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIS.  155 

offered  his  arm  in  the  half-Hghted  ])assage. 
She  pretended  not  to  see  it. 

*  Look  here,'  he  broke  out  roughly,  '  if 
you're  going  to  treat  me  Hke  a  dog,  as  you're 
so  fond  of  doing,  I  tell  you  plainly  that  I  am 
not  in  the  mood  to  stand  it.  I  haven't  seen 
you  for  months,  and — and  I  won't  stand  it, 
Katherine.  I've  as  much  right  to  civil 
treatment  as  the  others,  and  more — because 
I  care  for  you  more.  Come,  which  is  it  to 
be  ?' — he  halted  and  held  her  back  by  a 
powerful  hand  on  her  bare  arm  (it  was  some 
small  mercy,  she  thought,  that  he  had  his 
gloves  on) — '  peace  or  war,  Katherine  ?' 

She  only  looked  before  her  with  straining 
eyes,  and  in  the  distance  she  saw  Jim  coming 
across  the  hall.  The  sight  of  that  insignifi- 
cant figure  brought  a  sigh  of  relief  to  her 
rigid  lips. 

'  How  can  you  be  so  absurd  ?'  was  all 
she  said,  and  they  moved  on,  for  Jim  was 
approaching  them.  But  in  her  heart  she 
exclaimed,  again  and  again,  '  Why  did  I  let 
them  ])ersuade  me  ?  I  might  have  known 
how  it  would  be.' 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  ball-room  was  full  of  guests,  sittino-  on 
rows  of  chairs  and  forms,  in  expectation  of  the 
rising  of  the  curtain  in  the  bay  window.  As 
Neil  and  Katherine  entered,  many  eyes  were 
turned  upon  them  and  manj^  whispered  com- 
ments passed  to  and  fro.  '  Is  that  a  case  ? 
She'll  be  a  fortunate  o^irl  if  it  is.  What  a 
magnificent  fellow,  to  be  sure  !  Aud  she's 
really  not  so  very  plain — carries  herself  well, 
which  after  all  is  the  great  thing.'  A  few 
remarked  on  her  heartlessness  in  gadding 
about  when  her  father  was  dying,  and  others 
were  glad  to  see  the  poor  girl  having  a 
little  fun,  like  other  girls.  But  she  heard 
nothing. 

Neil  found  her  a  chair  half-way  down  the 
room,  and  planted  himself  beside   her,      Jim 


NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN.  157 

on  entering  had  retired,  as  was  his  habit,  to 
the  background.  After  much  whispering 
and  rusthng,  both  before  and  behind  the 
curtain,  the  mechanism  on  which  so  much 
ingenuity  had  been  expended  worked  success- 
fully, and  the  stage  appeared  to  view.  Carry, 
in  her  bewitching  costume,  occupied  it,  with 
her  long-handled  broom.  The  audience 
cheered  her  warmly,  and  she  turned  and 
bowed — which,  Alexander  told  her  afterward, 
she  ouofht  not  to  have  done.  Then  she  began 
to  soliloquise  in  a  flat  voice,  and  it  became 
evident  that  the  office  of  prompter  (filled  by 
Mrs.  Tom)  w^as  to  be  no  sinecure. 

However,  all  went  well  when  the  thing 
was  fairly  started.  Barbara  was  very  smart 
and  self-possessed,  causing  the  bosoms  of  her 
observing  family  to  palpitate  with  pride ;  her 
play  with  the  baby's  cap  was  thought  to  be 
exquisitely  humorous.  Alexander,  despite 
his  self-depreciation,  was  a  capital  actor,  easy 
and  natural,  quite  sure  of  himself,  and  thus 
able  to  give  confidence  to  the  others  ;  while 
Thwaites,  in  his  flaxen  curls  and  white  muslin 
garibaldi,   brought  down  the    house   in   con- 


158  NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN. 

tinued  thunders  of  ^.pplause.  He  was  the 
sensation  of  the  evening,  as  all  had  anti- 
cipated, including  himself  The  mere  sight  of 
him  was  enough  to  make  the  audience  shriek 
with  laughter,  but  when  he  performed  his  part 
with  what  Alexander  considered  an  inartistic 
exaggeration  of  its  elements  of  buffoonery, 
the  audience  rolled  about  in  its  chair  and 
tears  ran  down  its  cheeks — for  it  was  a  simple 
country  folk,  that  did  not  go  to  the  theatre 
very  often.  His  preposterous  femininity, 
his  airs  and  graces,  and  his  falsetto  voice, 
were  irresistible. 

The  piece  was  short,  so  as  not  to  unduly 
interfere  with  the  ball,  and  the  curtain  came 
down  amid  ringing  cheers  for  each  and  all  of 
the  performers.  One  by  one  they  came 
proudly  forth  to  bow  their  complacent  ac- 
knowledgments and  pick  up  the  bouquets 
hurled  at  them  ;  then  they  scuttled  through 
the  bay  window  and  away  to  their  rooms  to 
attire  themselves  in  their  private  clothes  as 
quickly  as  possible.  The  audience  rose  and 
resolved  itself  into  groups,  which  successively 
flowed  into  the  hall,  there  to  partake  of  gossip 


NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN.  159 

and  light  refreshments  until  the  ball-room 
was  cleared  for  dancing.  Katherine,  with 
one  eye  on  Mrs.  Heath  and  the  other  on 
Mrs.  Brand,  would  have  made  a  dash  for 
liberty  at  this  juncture,  but  her  hostess, 
whom  she  had  not  yet  spoken  to,  caught 
sight  of  her,  and  she  was  obliged  to  report 
herself  to  that  lady.  Neil  stuck  to  her  side, 
and  the  opportunity  passed  ;  no  other  pre- 
sented itself  until  the  music  began,  and 
Alexander  came  up  with  a  decided  air  of 
elation  to  claim  his  dance.  He  was  quite 
radiant  in  his  fresh  toilet,  with  the  ends  of 
his  moustaches  waxed  to  needle  points  ;  and 
many  fair  ladies  looked  after  him,  and  asked 
each  other  in  whispers,  *  Who  is  he  ?'  When 
they  were  told  that  he  was  an  Australian 
they  wouldn't  believe  it.  Mrs.  Hammond 
smiled  at  him  maternally,  gratified  by  his 
elegant  appearance  (he  had  the  then  new- 
fashioned  silk  facini>-  to  his  coat,  and  was 
perfectly  appointed  in  every  way),  but  she 
reflected  at  the  same  time  that  his  first  dance 
should  have  been  bestowed  by  a  daughter  of 
the  house.      Neil  glowered  at  his  approach 


160  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

at    the     spectacle    of    Katherine's    face    of 
welcome. 

'  Hold  on,'  he  said,  from  the  shelter  of  his 
mother's  presence.  '  Let  me  secure  some- 
thing before  you  go.  The  next  waltz  after 
this,  Katherine  ?' 

'  The  next  quadrille,  if  you  like,'  she  an- 
swered.     *  I  am  not  going  to  waltz  to-night.' 

'  But  this  is  a  waltz  that  you  are  giving  to 
Alexander.' 

'  Is  it  ?  Then  I  will  ask  Mr.  Alexander 
if  he'll  let  me  off,  and  take  another  instead. 
I'm  out  of  practice,'  she  explained.  '  And, 
besides,  I  haven't  the  heart  for  round  dances 
just  now.' 

These  were  good  reasons,  but  Alexander 
surmised  a  better  one — that  she  was  deter- 
mined not  to  dance  round  dances  with  Neil. 

'  I  think  the  other  ladies  have  their  part- 
ners,' he  said.  '  Will  you  allow  me  to  sit 
this  waltz  out  with  you  ?' 

'  With  pleasure,'  she  answered,  in  a  tone 
of  sincerity  that  no  one  could  mistake. 

Neil  asked  for  her  programme,  to 
record    her    engagement    for   the   quadrille. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  161 

'  And  I'll  write  myself  down  for  the  next 
waltz  too,'  he  said,  and  he  did  so.  '  We  can 
sit  that  out  together,  as  you  and  Alexander 
sit  this.  What's  sauce  for  the  goose  is  sauce 
for  the  gander,  ain't  it,  mother  V 

'  You  are  two  lazy  boys,'  said  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond, smilino'  vao-uelv.  And  she  went  off 
to  her  duties,  shortly  followed  by  her  son, 
who  was  booked  to  open  the  ball  with  the 
wife  of  the  county  member. 

When  he  was  gone  Katherine  was  so 
visibly  relieved,  and  then  so  inclined  to  look 
depressed,  that  her  companion  was  sorely 
tempted  to  speak  of  the  annoyances  that  he 
knew  (and  that  she  knew  he  knew)  she 
suffered  from,  with  a  view  to  offering  such 
protection  as  she  would  accept  ;  but,  though 
an  Australian,  he  had  very  good  manners, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  too  great  a  liberty  to 
take  on  so  short  an  acquaintance.  So  they 
sat  about,  and  talked  of  the  Andersons,  and 
improved  the  occasion  in  the  ordinary  man- 
ner. He  grew  more  and  more  interesting. 
He  seemed  to  have  the  strongest  friendship 
for  her  beloved  half-sister,  and  to  be  a  second 

VOL.  I.  11 


1G2  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

father  to  her  nephews  and  nieces,  all  of  whom, 
though  personally  unknown,  were  as  dear  to 
her  as  nephews  and  nieces  usually  are  to 
young  maiden  aunts. 

The  time  flew  for  both  of  them.  The 
waltz  seemed  over  before  it  had  well  begun, 
and  then  Mr.  Thwaites  came  for  his  quadrille. 
This  was  performed  perfunctorily  on  her  part, 
for  all  her  gaiety  had  forsaken  her,  and  she 
was  lucky  in  securing  a  tete-a-tete  with  Mr. 
Brand  as  soon  as  her  task  was  over.  The 
vicar  sheltered  and  entertained  her  during 
the  progress  of  a  polka,  in  which  all  the 
young  men  took  part ;  lancers,  with  Jim  for 
partner,  followed,  and  the  dreaded  second 
waltz  came  next.  She  had  as  stout  a  spirit 
as  ever  dwelt  in  a  woman's  body,  and  there 
was  no  earthly  ground  for  imagining  that  Neil 
could  molest  her  in  any  way,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, and  yet  she  grew  actually  pale 
as  the  time  for  that  second  waltz  drew  near. 

*  Oh,  Jim,  I  wish  I  was  at  home  1'  she 
sighed  wistfully. 

'  Why,  Katherine  ?  You  may  depend  he's 
all  right — asleep  and  quiet.      Do  try  to  for- 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  1  <33 

get  tilings  for  an  hour  or  two,  if  only  to 
please  him.  He  was  so  anxious  for  you  to 
enjoy  yourself 

*  You  won't  mind  taking  me  back  soon  ? 
she  persisted,  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
him. 

'  Certainly  not,  if  you  really  want  to  go — 
but  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't.  I'm  engaged 
for  this  next  dance,  but  after  that  I'll  tell 
them  to  see  about  the  cart.  It  can  wait  till 
you  are  ready.' 

The  music  began,  and  he  left  her,  to  seek 
his  partner.  She  looked  wildly  round  for  a 
chaperon,  but  before  she  could  find  one  Neil 
had  taken  possession  of  her, 

'  Come  along,'  he  said  ;  '  let's  get  out  <  >f 
this,  and  find  a  quiet  place  to  talk  in,  Kathc- 
rine.'  He  towered  over  her  as  he  spoke,  and 
she  felt  herself  shrink  before  him.  In  her 
childish  days  he  had  been  a  superstitious  ter- 
ror to  her,  a  sort  of  superhuman  inon.ster 
looming  darkly  over  her  little  world  ;  and 
now  that  she  was  grown  up,  and  theoretically 
his  despotic  mistress,  she  feared  him  as  much 
as  ever. 


164  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

*  I  don't  want  to  talk,'  she  said,  in  a  flat 
voice,  '  and  I  prefer  to  stay  here.' 

'  What,  to  have  them  all  falling  over  our 
feet  as  they  go  round  ?  No,  thank  you. 
Besides,  if  they  see  me  not  dancing — and 
they  can't  very  well  help  seeing  me,  I'm  so 
conspicuous,  unfortunately" — they  won't  like 
it.  I'm  supposed  to  be  the  dancing  man  of 
the  family — Lord  knows  why  !' 

*  Of  course  you  ought  to  dance — it  is  ex- 
pected of  you  in  your  own  house.  Oh,  why 
dont  you  ?' 

*  Because  I  want  to  be  with  you.  It's  a 
good  long  time  since  I  had  a  chance,  and  I 
can't  tell  when  I  shall  get  another,' 

A  dogged  look,  half  defiance,  half  resigna- 
tion, settled  on  her  tired  face,  and  it  made 
him  savage  to  see  it.  A  couple  wheeling* 
past  knocked  up  against  him  as  he  stood  in 
their  wa\",  and  he  flung  out  an  imprecation 
that  she  felt  was  more  for  her  than  for  them ; 
another  couple  followed — Thwaites  and  Miss 
West — and  drove  at  him  purposely,  loudl}'" 
protesting  against  so  much  matter  in  the 
wrong  place  ;  and  he   sullenly  subsided  into 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  105 

the  chair  at  Katherine's  side.  Here  he  sat 
broodingly  for  some  minutes,  with  his  elbow 
on  his  knee,  stroking  his  moustache,  while 
she  sat  back  in  apparent  ease,  with  her  ex- 
asperating air  of  ignoring  his  existence.  It 
was  a  very  public  place,  and  they  were  much 
observed,  which  made  thein  both  uncomfort- 
able; but  she  seemed  resolved  to  stay  there. 

Presently  he  turned  slowly  round  and 
looked  at  her.  '  I  don't  want  to  force  you 
to  stay  here  with  me  if  you'd  rather  not,'  he 
said  with  a  considerateness  that  surprised  her 
and  disarmed  her  resentment  for  the  moment. 
'  If  you  would  prefer  to  sit  with — w  ith  Mrs. 
Heath,  I  will  take  you  to  her.      Shall  I  V 

'  If  you  will,'  she  answered,  rising  quickly, 
'  I  shall  be  nmch  obliged  to  you,  Neil.  I 
want  to  see  Mrs.  Heath  jmrticularly.' 

'  Come  then,'  said  he.  And  together  they 
passed  from  the  ball-room  to  the  hall,  where 
several  people  were  sitting.  Neil  led  the 
way  across  the  hall  to  the  library  passage, 
which  was  dim  and  empty. 

*  Where  is  she  V  asked  Katherine,  hanging 
back. 


166  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN. 

'  In  the  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage,' said  Neil,  '  She  and  Mrs.  Brand  have 
gone  there  to  have  a  gossip  to  themselves.' 

Katherine  went  on  unsus2)ectingly,  and 
presently  walked  into  the  little  room,  whicli 
was  scarcely  lighted  by  a  small  paraffine 
lamp.  It  was  the  room  in  which  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond interviewed  the  servants  and  made  up 
her  housekeeping  accounts.  As  the  girl 
looked  hurriedly  round  for  Mrs.  Heath  and 
Mrs.  Brand,  Neil  locked  the  door  and  put 
the  key  in  his  pocket. 

The  sound  struck  her  like  a  bullet  in  the 
heart.  In  one  moment  she  realized  all  that 
it  meant — the  outrageous  indignity  that  had 
been  put  upon  her,  incredible  as  it  was. 
She  was  a  prisoner  at  the  mercy  of  this 
terrible  giant,  who  had  deliberately  forfeited 
his  claim  to  be  a  man  of  honour.  Oh,  if 
she  had  only  consented  to  waltz  with  him  ! 
It  was  her  insurmountable  repugnance  to 
being  touched  b}^  so  much  as  his  coat-sleeve, 
let  alone  being  grasped  round  the  waist  by 
his  audacious  arm,  that  had  caused  her  to 
renounce  round  dances  for  the  eveniui^f  ;  and 


NOT    ALL    IN    V'AIN.  ]  67 

now,  how  much  worse  a  thing  had  befallen 
her !  She  essayed  to  utter  the  scream  for 
help  that  was  the  first  natural  impulse  of  a 
woman  in  such  a  situation,  and  Neil,  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation,  clapped  his  hand 
over  her  mouth. 

'  Don't  call  out — don't  make  a  row  !'  he 
panted,  in  his  fierce,  husky  voice  ;  '  it's  your 
fault — you  drove  me  to  it.  It  was  my 
only  chance  of  getting  a  word  with  you. 
Katherine,  ivill  you  be  quiet,  and  listen  to 
me  ?  I'm  not  going  to  harm  you — I 
wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head — I  only 
want  to  talk  to  you  for  a  minute,  and  it's 
quiet  here.  No  one  will  ever  find  us.  If 
they  do,  I'll  explain.  I'll  tell  them  I  made 
you  come  against  your  will.  But  they'll  all 
know  that,  without  being  told  ;  you'll  get 
no  blame.  Katherine,  if  you  go  on  like 
this  ' — for  she  was  desperately  struggling, 
in  silence  and  with  set  teeth,  and  he  hold- 
ing her  as  only  he  could  hold,  not  tightly, 
but  with  a  strength  against  which  hers  was 
like  water — *  if  you  don't  be  quiet  and 
listen  to  me,  I — I  shall  get  dangerous.' 


168  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN. 

It  was  no  empty  threat — she  heard  that 
in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  felt  it  in  the 
iron  muscles  that  constrained  her,  and  saw 
it  in  the  gleam  of  his  bloodshot  eyes.  She 
ceased  to  fight  with  him,  and  stood  passive 
until  he  released  her  ;  then  walked  to  the 
other  side  of  the  little  room,  and  turning, 
faced  him,  with  her  back  to  the  wall. 

If  she  had  never  been  beautiful  before 
she  was  beautiful  then,  with  that  tragic 
dignity.  As  Neil  looked  at  her,  seeing  the 
still  indomitable  soul  in  her  face,  he  admired 
her  more  than  he  had  ever  done  before,  and 
felt  a  twinge  of  remorse  for  the  way  he  had 
treated  her. 

'  Look  here,  Katherine,  I  really  couldn't 
help  it,'  he  said,  almost  pleading  with  her. 
'  I  know  it's  a  shame  ;  but  in  love  and  war 
— and  it's  because  I  love  you.  Look  here, 
I'll  unlock  the  door.'  He  unlocked  it  as 
he  spoke,  and  placed  his  back  against 
it.      *  Say  you  forgive  me.' 

She  did  not  speak,  but  only  looked  at 
him  with  ineffable  contempt. 

'  Very  well,  don't  say  it.      But  you  will 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN'  101) 

when  you're  cool  again — you'll  forgive  a  bit 
of  madness  that  was  only  done  for  love 
of  you.' 

*  Never  !'  she  burst  out  bitterly,  with  her 
line  head  uplifted  ;  '  never,  Neil  Hammond, 
to  the  last  day  of  my  life  !' 

'  Bosh  !  You  only  say  that  now  because 
you're  angry.  You've  a  right  to  be  angry, 
of  course ;  but  you  ought  to  take  into 
account  the  provocation  you  have  given 
me.  Why  do  you  treat  me  so,  Katherine, 
when  3'ou  know  how  I  love  you  ?' 

Through  his  savage  excitement  she  heard 
the  tender  tremble  in  his  voice,  and  shud- 
dered. She  divined  his  impulse  to  approach 
her,  and  flung  out  her  hands  with  a  magni- 
ficent gesture. 

'  I  am  obliged,'  she  said,  *  to  listen  to 
what  you  choose  to  say — I  have  no  option  ; 

but   if   you   dare   to    touch    me   again ' 

She  stopped,  and  did  not  finish  the  sen- 
tence, for  it  was  idle  to  threaten  him.  '  At 
any  rate,'  she  concluded,  with  a  long  breath, 
*  at  any  rate  I  know  you  now,  if  I  never 
did    before ;    and    I    never    did,    quite.       I 


170  NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN. 

thouofht  all  the  Hammonds  were  sfentlemen 
— were  men — even  you — though  you  were 
always  a  bully  to  people  weaker  than  your- 
self. I  shall  know  what  to  do  in  future — 
how  to  guard  myself  against  such  another 
treachery.  I  will  never  again  trust  myself 
to  your  care,  nor  believe  your  word  ;  T  will 
never  again  enter  this  house,  where  every- 
body else  has  been  so  kind  to  me,  while  you 
are  within  a  hundred  miles  of  it ;  I  will  not 
go  outside  my  own  door  without  a  protector  : 
I — 1  will  never  speak  to  you  again  of  my 
own  free  will — never.  Mobile  I  live  1' 

He  strode  toward  her  with  a  look  on  his 
dark-red  face  that  made  her  voice  falter  and 
her  heart  leap  with  dread. 

*  Then  I'll  take  what  I  want  while  I  can 
get  it ' 


^  Neil !'  she  shrieked,  in  sheer  physical 
terror,  as  she  felt  herself  crushed  to  his 
breast  in  those  inexorable  arms,  and  his 
wine-scented  breath  on  her  face.  And  then, 
in  still  sharper  agony,  as  his  gross  lips 
sought  hers — *  Jim  !  Jim  !' 

It  was   over  in   a  moment  ;  Jim   was  in 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  171 

the  room,  and  Neil  leaning  back  against  the 
wall,  almost  as  shocked  as  his  brother. 

'  I  didn't  mean  it — I  must  have  had  too 
much  champagne,  and  she  does  drive  a 
fellow  so  mad  that  he  doesn't  know  what 
he's  after.  I  beg  3^our  pardon,  Katherine  ; 
I  do,  humbly.' 

But  Katherine  only  cried  to  Jim  to  take 
her  home. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Katherine  entered  her  father's  room  next 
morning  with  her  wonted  serenity  of  face, 
and  asked  him,  as  a  favour  to  her,  not  to 
try  to  get  up  as  usual,  but  to  rest  in  bed 
and  let  her  read  to  him.  With  the  same 
assumption  of  cheerfulness  he  said  he 
thought  he  would,  and  she  spent  the  early 
hours  of  the  day  in  devising  new  ways 
to  make  him  comfortable.  They  were  full 
of  enthusiasm  about  the  water-bed,  which 
was  to  render  lying  a  luxury,  instead  of  the 
achinof  weariness  that  it  had  been.  Jim 
was  to  ride  early  to  the  station  to  telegraph 
for  it,  and  it  might  possibly  be  down  by  the 
evening  train.  She  talked  to  her  father 
about  the  Hammonds'  party — who  was 
there,    and   how    the    play    went    off" — but 


NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN.  173 

did  not  mention  Neil  ;  and  she  tried  to 
put  him  out  of  her  thoughts  as  well  as  out 
of  the  conversation. 

However,  that  relief  was  denied  her,  for 
Neil  in  person  presented  himself  at  Weep 
Hall  not  lono'  after  breakfast.  She  was 
in  her  father's  room,  and  saw  him  from  the 
window.  The  major  saw  him  too,  and 
looked  inquiring^  at  his  daughter. 

'  What's  he  want  here  at  this  time  of 
day  ?'  he  asked. 

Katherine  did  not  answer  ;  she  was  listen- 
ing. In  a  moment  she  darted  into  the  hall, 
and  intercepted  the  young  housemaid  on 
her  way  to  the  door. 

*  That  is  Mr.  Neil  Hammond,'  she  said  ; 
*  if  he  asks  for  me,  say  I  cannot  see  him. 
T  am  enoao'cd.' 

The  girl  looked  puzzled,  and  as  if  she  did 
not  like  the  job  ;  she  shared  the  general 
sentiment  of  admiration  for  the  squire's 
splendid  son. 

*  Very  well,  miss/  she  said,  and  passed  on  ; 
and  her  mistress  drew  back  into  the  sittino- 
room  to  hear  the  delivery  of  her  message. 


174  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

Neil's  gieat  voice  rang  sonorously  thi'ough 
that  echoing  space. 

'  Miss  Knowles  at  home  ?' 

'  Yes,  sir  ;  but  she's  very  busy  in  master's 
room  just  now.' 

*  Will  you  ask  if  I  can  speak  to  her — 
here,  at  the  door  ?  Tell  her  I  won't  detain 
her  a  moment.' 

Katherine  squeezed  her  hands  together 
and  bit  her  lip  as  she  waited  for  the 
reply. 

'  I'm  afraid  you  cannot  see  her,  sir,  just 
now.  Master  is  very  bad  this  morning, 
and  she's  afraid  to  leave  him.' 

The  listener  breathed  again. 

*  Then  can  I  see  Miss  Freeman  ?' 

'  Oh  yes,  sir,  certainly.  I  will  call  her. 
Walk  in.' 

Fortunately,  the  sitting-room  had  another 
door,  conniiunicating  by  a  short  passage  with 
the  major's  bedroom.  Through  this  Kathe- 
rine flashed  like  a  shot,  and,  reaching  safety, 
exclaimed,  '  Idiot  /'  in  a  tone  that  had  all  the 
force  of  an  imprecation. 

The  sick  man    understood   the  situation. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  175 

'  Come  and  sit  by  me,  Kathy,'  he  said. 
'  Come  here,  my  girl.  I  can  still  be  some 
shelter  to  you.'  His  fatherly  solicitude  was 
very  pathetic. 

She  sat  down  by  his  bed  and  took  his 
bony  hand  in  hers.  They  said  nothing 
more,  but  listened  to  the  murmur  of  voices 
in  the  next  room. 

Presently  Miss  Freeman  called  through 
the  little  passage,  'Katherine  !  Katherine, 
love  !' 

*  Go  upstairs — go  anywhere  you  like,' 
whispered  the  major.  '  I'll  settle  Aunt 
Ellen.' 

And  Katherine  fled.  By-and-by  she  was 
aware  that  Neil  was  gone,  and  returning  to 
the  ground -floor,  found  Aunt  Ellen  in  a 
temper  and  her  father  exhausted  to  the 
verge  of  a  collapse. 

*  Why  am  I  such  a  coward  ?'  she  cried 
bitterly,  as  she  gave  him  the  restorative  he 
needed,  reproaching  herself  for  having  ex- 
posed him  to  an  agitation  that  he  had  not 
strength  to  bear. 

Her  father  looked  at  her  wistfully.      '  If  I 


176  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

could    only    see    you  safe  before  I  go !'  he 
panted,  between  his  weak  coughs. 

'  My  darling,  I'm  quite  safe,'  she  mur- 
mured. '  I'm  only  a  coward — that's  all.' 
But  he  knew  very  well  that  if  she  was  a 
coward  she  was  not  so  for  nothing. 

Before  the  early  dinner  one  of  the  Ham- 
monds' grooms  appeared  at  Weep  Hall  and 
delivered  a  letter  to  Lydia.  It  was,  of 
course,  from  Neil ;  Katherine  recognised  that 
at  once,  though  he  had  never  written  to  her 
before.  The  man  said  there  was  no  answer, 
and  left  before  it  could  be  returned  to  him, 
had  the  recipient  thought  of  returning  it. 
That,  however,  was  a  sort  of  petty  indignit}' 
that  it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  put  upon  the 
writer  through  the  medium  of  a  servant  ; 
she  received  it  with  composure,  took  it  to 
her  room,  and  read  it. 

It  was  a  curious  epistle.  Neil,  though  he 
had  been  to  the  venerable  Norwich  Grammar 
School,  and  later  to  Caius  College,  was  not 
remarkable  for  his  literary  acquirements. 
He  had  honoured  both  school  and  university 
in  his  day,  but  not  from  the  point  of  view  of 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  177 

the  authorities  who  presided  over  those  seats 
of  learning.  The  gloves,  the  bat,  the  oar, 
the  gun  and  rod,  were  more  in  his  line  than 
the  pen,  which  he  used  chiefly  in  the  compi- 
lation of  his  mercantile  accounts.  Still, 
though  this  letter  lacked  the  graces  of  gram- 
mar and  composition,  it  was  terse  and  to  the 
point,  which  is  the  most  essential  condition 
of  a  good  letter,  and  the  one  we  least  often 
meet  with. 

*  Dear  Katherine, 

*  If  you  wont  see  me  you  wont 
though  I  shall  not  Give  up  and  I  wanted  to 
show  you  I  was  sorry  for  forgetting  myself 
on  account  of  my  Head  not  being  quite  so 
clear  as  it  ought  and  T  was  madened  I  confess 
as  any  man  would  be  who  loved  you  with  all 
his  heart  and  soul  and  would  give  his  Life 
for  you  and  yet  you  treat  me  like  a  dog  but 
I  will  win  you  yet  if  I  wait  for  years  and 
anybody  that  dares  to  step  in  I  will  kill  him 
if  I  hang  for  it. 

'  Yours  till  death, 

'  Neil  Hammond.' 

VOL.  I.  12 


178  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

It  was  really  very  impressive,  in  spite  of 
the  absence  of  punctuation,  but  it  did  not 
impress  Katherine.  She  read  it  through 
with  disdain  and  disgust,  and  then  tore  it  into 
quarters,  and  flung  the  pieces  in  the  fire. 

In  the  afternoon,  while  her  father  was 
dozing  with  a  little  air  of  stupor  and  languor 
that  made  her  anxious,  she  heard  another 
swing  of  the  gate  and  masculine  footsteps  on 
the  paved  path. 

'  What,  again  /'  she  exclaimed  to  herself 
desperately.  '  Shall  I  be  obliged  to  tell  the 
whole  household  how  he  persecutes  me,  in 
order  to  be  protected  from  him  ?  Must  I 
make  a  common  scandal  of  it  V 

But  it  was  not  Neil  this  time.  She  crept 
to  the  window  and  2:)eeped,  and  saw  the 
graceful  figure  of  Forbes  Alexander  in  his 
fur-collared  coat.  Aunt  Ellen  received  the 
visitor  and  talked  to  him  for  some  minutes, 
and  then  tip-toed  to  the  sick  chamber  to 
exchange  places  with  her  niece. 

The  two  young  people  met  in  the  middle 
of  the  room — the  pleasant  fire-lighted  old 
room  that,  with  its  oak  lining,  ebonized  b}'' 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  179 

the  polish  of  centuries,  and  its  splendid  win- 
dow, was  so  much  liner  than  anybody 
imagined  in  those  pre-testhetic  days — with  a 
mutual  sentiment  of  satisfaction. 

*  How  good  of  you  to  come  !'  said  Kathe- 
rine,  expressing  welcome  in  voice  and   face. 

*  My  father  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you — if  he 
feels  able  presently.  Just  now  he  is  asleep, 
and  I  don't  like  to  disturb  him.' 

'  Pray  don't,'    returned    the   young   man. 

*  I  can  wait  until  he  wakes.  I  trust  he  is  not 
worse.      1  see  he  is  absent  from  his  chair.' 

Katherine  looked  at  the  chair — a  Q^reat 
pillowed  and  petticoated  piece  of  furniture, 
such  as  we  used  to  see  in  dimity  covers  stand- 
ing beside  huge  four-posted  bedsteads  in  our 
early  days — and  its  emptiness  shocked  her. 
She  turned  away  toward  the  window,  which 
revealed  the  sad,  gray  sk}^  through  a  lace- 
work  of  naked  elm  branches,  dotted  with 
rooks'  nests,  and  her  companion  saw  her 
sweep  her  handkerchief  across  her  eyes.  She 
was  worn  and  tired  from  excitement  and 
anxiety,  and  her  naturally  tough  nerves  were 
slack.      When  she  turned  again  he  was  re- 


180  NOT    ALL    IN    S^AIN. 

garding  her  with  a  most  dehcate  and  humble 
sympathy. 

'  It  is  useless  to  pretend  I  don't  know  it/ 
she  said,  resolutely  repressing  the  tendency  to 
sob.      '  He  will  never  sit  in  his  chair  again.' 

'  Oh,  don't  think  that — don't  be  down- 
hearted,' he  murmured.  It  was  the  only 
thing  to  say,  but  his  manner  expressed  much 
more  than  his  words.  He  had  the  tact  to 
gently  change  the  conversation  as  soon  as  he 
could. 

'  I  have  come,  I  am  sony  to  say,  to  bid 
you  good-bye,  Miss  Knowles.  I  am  leaving 
the  Hammonds  to-morrow.' 

*  What  r  she  cried,  rousing  herself.  *  Oh, 
I  thought  you  were  going  to  staj'  for  a  week 
or  two.      The  girls  told  me  so.' 

*  I  thought  I  was  myself  But — well,  the 
fact  is,  I  find  I  am  not  a  jyersoiin  grafrr 
altogether — that  is,  not  with  the  household 
as  a  whole.  This  is  between  ourselves,  of 
course.  Neil  Hammond,  for  some  reason  or 
another,  doesn't  like  me.' 

'  You  needn't  mind  that,'  she  put  in 
quickly. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  181 

'  I  wouldn't  mind  it  it*  lie  didn't  show  it 
openly.  But  he  makes  it  so  plain  that  I  can't 
ignore  it.      As  a  guest  in  his  house •' 

'  It  isn't  his  house.  Mr.  Hammond  and 
Tom  are  your  hosts,  and  they  both  like  your 
being  there,  I  know.  Tom  is  a  little  heavy, 
but  he  has  the  best  heart  in  the  world. 
And  Jim — but  you  know  what  Jim  is.' 

'  Oh,  Jim  and  I  understand  each  other. 
And  we  shall  meet  in  London  presently, 
when  he  goes  back  to  his  hospital.  I  really 
don't  find  it  any  fun  to  stay  on  now,  though 
I  am  very  sorry  to  go  for  some  things. 
One  must  draw  the  line,  you  know,' 

*  You  mean  he  has  been  unbearable  V 

'  He  is  unbearable  at  this  moment.  So  I 
have  jusi,  sent  a  telegram  to  a  friend  of  mine 
to  tell  him  to  summon  me  on  important 
business  at  once.  That's  the  easiest  way 
out  of  it.  I  shall  get  his  message  in  time 
for  to-morrow  morningf's  train.' 

'  Where  is  your  friend  V 

'  In  London.  But  I  shall  go  on  to  Scot- 
land, where  my  father's  folks  are  making 
a  fuss  because  I  haven't  been  near  them.' 


182  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

*  It's  a  long  way,'  said  Katherine.  And 
she  added,  almost  with  a  sigh,  '  I'm  very 
sorry.' 

Alexander  looked  at  her  as  she  sat  gazing 
into  the  fire.  She  wore  a  dark  woollen 
dress,  with  a  linen  collar,  and  her  brown 
hair  shone  raddily  in  the  blaze  ;  her  figure, 
in  the  forward,  drooping  attitude,  with  its 
lovely,  flexible,  generous  curves,  was  the 
most  perfect,  he  thought,  that  he  had  ever 
seen. 

'  I  hope  you  will  let  me  feel  that  it  is 
only  a  temporary  parting,'  he  said,  *  that  I 
may  go  on  calling  myself  your  friend — a 
friend  who  may  venture  to  present  himself 
again,  if  he  sees  a  chance ' 

*  Oh,  you  know  that,'  she  broke  in. 
*  Belle's  friends  are  ours.  Did  j^ou  not 
tell  me,'  looking  up,  '  that  your  station  was 
close  to  theirs  ?' 

'  Quite  close — not  five  miles  ;  at  least,  it 
is  my  fathei-'s  station.  My  brother  and  I 
only  live  there,  but  it  is,  of  course,  to  be 
our  own  some  day.  When  I  go  back  my 
brother,  I  think,  will   marry,  and  bring  his 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  188 

wife   home  for  a  trip.      Then  I  shall  be   in 
charge,  as  he  is  now.' 
'  Are  you  going  soon  ?' 

*  I  don't  know ;  it  depends  on  circum- 
stances.' 

*  We  shall  meet  in  Australia  next,  per- 
haps,' she  said,  raising  her  sad  eyes.  '  I 
can't  hope  to  have  mj^  father  much  longer, 
and  when  I  am  left  alone  I  shall  go  at  once 
to  my  sister.      He  wishes  it.' 

*  Yes,  I  know  he  does.  It  will  be  the 
best  thing — the  very  best  thing.  And 
anything  I  can  do,  Miss  Knowles ' 

'  Thank  you.  Don't  talk  about  it  now  ; 
I  can't  bear  it.' 

*  At  least,  remember  I  am  at  your  ser- 
vice when — when  you  have  to  think  about 
it.  You  have  only  to  ask  Jim  Hammond 
where  I  am — I  will  keep  him  informed 
of  my  movements — and  at  any  hour,  any 
moment,  if  you  will  only  look  upon  me  as 
representing  Anderson  and  your  sister 
— it  is  what  they  would  wish,  I  know, 
beinsf  such  old  friends — as  escort,  or — or 
anything ' 


184  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN, 

'  Oh  yes  ;  don't  say  any  more.  It  hasn't 
come  to  that  yet.' 

'  Of  course  not,  and  won't  for  a  long  time, 
I  trust.  But  I  only  want  you  to  say  j^ou 
will  remember  that  there  is  someone  to 
whom  you  could  do  no  greater  favour  than 
to  make  use  of  him.  Never  mind  if  it  is 
ten  years  hence.' 

'  Do  you  think  you  would  remember  me 
for  ten  years,'  she  asked,  smiling. 

'  I  shall  remember  you  for  all  the  years 
that  I  live,'  he  rejoined,  in  a  tone  that 
made  her  colour  suddenl3^ 

'  Perhaps  my  father  is  awake  now,'  she 
said,  breaking  a  rather  protracted  pause, 
durinof  which  Mr.  Alexander  settled  in  his 
own  mind  that  he  would  '  hang  round  '  until 
Major  Knowles  was  dead,  and  then  make 
his  journey  home  coincident  with  hers  to 
her  sister.  '  I  know  he  would  like  to  see 
you.  Talk  to  him  about  Belle  and  Joe — 
he  wants  to  know  what  life  out  there  is  like 
— but  don't  let  him  talk  himself.' 

The  young  man  was  taken  to  the  sick- 
room, and  there  entertained  the  invalid  for 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIX.  185 

half  ail  hour ;  then  his  conscience  as  a 
gentleman  reproached  him  on  behalf  of  his 
neglected  hostesses,  and  he  tore  himself 
from  the  enchanted  house.  Katherine  went 
to  the  door  with  him,  and  allowed  him  to 
hold  hei-  hand  in  an  unusually  emphatic 
clasp  while  he  said  good-bye. 

'  We  shall  meet  again — we  shall  meet 
again,'  he  repeated,  with  emotion.  '  You 
will  remember  what  I  said — when  the  time 
comes  ?' 

'  I  will,'  she  said  ;  and,  with  a  swift  and 
to  her  most  unexpected  movement,  he  bent 
his  handsome  head  to  kiss  her  hand,  and 
then  rushed  away. 

'  What  is  it,'  he  demanded  of  himself,  as 
he  ran  along  the  road,  *  that  makes  her  so 
delightful  ?  There  is  nothing  you  can  see  to 
account  for  it — but  I  never  met  a  woman 
like  her.' 

He  left  the  Hammonds'  house  next  day, 
and  was  soon  as  lost  to  them  all — even  to 
Jim — as  if  he  had  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  the 
sea.  Whether  his  silence  as  to  his  move- 
ments  and   affairs   meant   that  he   was  pre- 


186  NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN. 

occupied  with  another  young  lady,  nobody 
knew,  but  Jim  thought  it  very  probable. 

And  no  sooner  had  Alexander  taken  his 
departure  than  Neil  went  too — sailing  back 
to  Yarmouth  over  the  reedy  rivers  and  salt 
marshes  at  the  time  when  no  pleasure  craft 
save  his  own  was  to  be  seen  upon  them,  but 
only  the  brown-sail  trading  wherries,  and  the 
drainage  wind-mills  twirling  madly  in  the 
air. 

His  going  was  a  bitter  grievance  to  his 
family,  who  had  counted  on  keeping  him  for 
the  holidays,  the  remainder  of  which  would 
lose  all  charm  without  him.  He  pleaded 
business,  but  they  knew  enough  of  his  busi- 
ness to  discredit  that  excuse.  There  was  no 
herring  fishing  in  January.  Since  they 
brouoht  the  last  take  home  before  Christmas 
his  smacks  had  been  moored  at  Yarmouth 
wharf,  and  the  smacksmen  enjoying  their 
little  festivities  like  himself ;  and  now  they 
were  away  again  to  trawl  in  distant  waters 
for  mackerel  and  cod,  and  would  not  be  back 
until  the  end  of  February.  He  told  them 
the  fish  came  home,  if  the  boats  did  not,  and 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  187 

that  there  was  more  to  attend  to  than  they 
imagined  ;  and  when  they  still  urged  that  he 
had  not  given  them  adequate  reasons  for  his 
desertion,  he  lost  his  temj^er,  and  requested 
them  to  be  good  enough  to  mind  their  own 
affairs  and  allow  him  to  manage  his  as  he 
thought  fit.  Then  they  guessed  what  was 
the  matter,  and  were  very  wroth  with  Kathe- 
rine — not  with  him,  of  course,  though  Jim, 
who,  like  the  great  Washington,  never  told  a 
lie,  solemnly  averred  that  the  blame  was  all 
on  Neil's  side  and  not  at  all  on  hers.  That, 
they  agreed  with  each  other,  was  what  Jim 
would  say  under  any  circumstances,  because 
he  never  could  see  a  fault  in  Katherine.  He 
looked  at  her  through  tinted  spectacles  that 
he  did  not  wear  for  other  people. 

And  so  Neil  went.  And  the  next  thing 
heard  of  him  was  a  deed  of  valour  to  make 
the  hearts  of  his  hardest  judges  thrill. 

There  blew  a  gale  from  the  east,  and  drove 
up  on  the  Norfolk  coast  those  awful  seas 
that  summer  visitors  never  dream  of — iron- 
coloured  waves  that  seemed  miles  long,  and 
breakers  that  came  down  like  the  Falls  of 


188  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

Niaofara,  with  a  boom  as  of  cannons  fin"  nor. 
Even  within  the  Yarmouth  Roads  those  tre- 
mendous surges  rolled,  from  the  foam-line  on 
the  horizon,  where  ships  were  parting  their 
cables  and  going  to  pieces  like  matchwood, 
to  the  foam-line  on  the  beach,  spreading  in 
white  acres  over  the  sand-dunes  and  spouting 
like  geysers  from  the  coping  of  the  wall. 
As  the  howling  night  closed  in,  the  bitter 
east-wind  night  of  mid-winter  and  the  sea, 
which  one  must  know  to  appreciate,  a  vessel 
that  had  been  riding-  in  the  roads  for  hours 
dragged  her  anchors  in  the  gale,  lost  them, 
and  was  driven  ashore,  where  the  breakers 
battered  her  to  death  before  morning. 

The  lifeboat  went  out  to  the  rescue  of  the 
drowning  crew.  It  was  then  so  black  over 
the  sea  that  nothing  was  visible  but  the 
white  crests  coming  out  of  the  void,  and  their 
stupendous  fall  and  the  swirling  of  the  surf 
upward,  and  its  crunching  backward  ebb  ;  no 
sign  of  the  wrecked  ship  beyond  its  signals  of 
distress.  There  was  a  little  delay  in  collecting 
the  lifeboat  men,  and  Neil  took  the  place  of 
one  of  them,  since  time  was  so  precious.    He 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  189 

was  an  experienced  and  accomplished  water- 
man, with  a  matchless  hand  for  oar  or  tiller 
or  straininof  sheet  ;  and  he  did  not  know 
what  fear  was. 

They  got  over  the  first  line  of  breakers 
without  capsizing,  and  were  seen  end  on  to 
the  next  sea,  every  man  holding  on  to  the 
thwarts  as  to  an  upright  ladder  ;  and  then 
they  were  seen  no  more  for  many  hours. 
The  sharpest  eyes  could  not  pierce  that  sleet- 
filled  darkness  into  which  they  had  gone, 
with  their  lives  in  their  hands,  nor  the  keen- 
est ears  detect  a  human  cry  in  the  thundei- 
of  that  huri'icane  and  of  those  roarinof  waters. 

But  the  lifeboat  did  its  errand — by  a 
miracle,  they  said.  Twice  it  was  rolled  over 
and  the  men  washed  out  in  the  dangerous 
seas  round  the  stranded  vessel,  and  Neil  did 
deeds  in  the  rescue  but  for  which  not  all 
would  have  come  home  again,  nor  the  hands 

on  the  wreck  been  saved. 

#  *  #  #  # 

'  And  yet,'  said  Carry  Hammond  to  her 
family,  *  and  yet  that  minx  doesn't  think  him 
good  enough  for  her  !* 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Jim,  who,  unlike  Neil  and  Alexander,  had 
real  and  pressing  business  calling  him  away 
(he  was  working  through  his  medical  course 
with  the  steady  enthusiasm  of  an  earnest 
man,  and  grudged  every  day  that  was  not 
advancing  him),  lingered  on  at  home,  in  the 
expectation  of  an  early  summons  to  the 
death-bed  of  his  friend.  Since  the  end 
seemed  so  near,  he  desired,  if  possible,  to  see 
the  doomed  man  '  through  it ' — which  meant 
to  see  Katherine  through  it,  and  do  what 
he  could  to  mitigate  the  agony  she  would 
have  to  bear. 

But  the  major  lingered  on,  as  he  had  got 
into  the  habit  of  doing,  adding  week  to 
week  ;  and  Jim  had  to  go.  January  crawled 
away,  and  February  after  it,  and  March  after 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  li)l 

that,  and  still  the  dying  process  continued — 
a  martyrdom  for  the   two  brave  souls  who 
shared   its  exquisite  anguish  together  such 
as  human  creatures  will  not  have  to  undergo, 
let  us  hope,  in  the  time  to  come,  when  things 
in  general   have    been  thought  out.      Aunt 
Ellen,  to  the  relief  of  all  parties,  returned  to 
the   companion  with   whom  she  shared  the 
precarious    fortunes    of   a    ladies'  school    in 
Surrey,  and  another  aunt  took  her  place — 
Aunt  Mary  Ann,  an  active  and  sensible  old 
person,  who,  though  very  difficult  to  get  on 
with   when   all  went  well,   was  a   tower   of 
strength  in  the  time  of  trouble.     Aunt  Mary 
Ann  had  become  Mrs.  Linley  since  the  days 
when  she  had  joint  charge  of  the  major  and 
his  daughter  in  the  childhood  of  the  latter, 
and  she  left  an  old  husband  in  London  to 
deplore   her   loss — which  he  felt  acutely  as 
soon  as  the  sweet  novelty  of  being  able  to  do 
as  he  liked  wore  ofl*.     She  was  a  heaven-born 
cook    and    domestic    administratoi-,    and    an 
inflexible  rough-and-ready  nurse  of  the  old- 
fashioned   pattern  ;  the  most  dreadful  emer- 
gencies did  not  daunt  her  for  a  moment,  nor 


192  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

find  her  unprepared  to  meet  them.  Lydia 
hated  her,  but  Katherine  was  too  broken - 
spirited  to  rebel,  as  at  another  time  she  would 
have  done,  against  such  an  arbitrary  govern- 
ment ;  moreover,  she  felt  daily  more  and 
more  the  support  of  so  stout  a  heart  and 
ready  a  hand,  as  her  own  fine  powers  of 
nerve  and  endurance  flagged  under  the  long 
and  cruel  strain.  Aunt  Mary  Ann  knew  this, 
and  was  happy.  It  was  all  the  reward  she 
cared  for — the  proud  consciousness  of  being- 
indispensable.  Anyone  who  gave  her  this 
feeling  was  sure  of  receiving  her  best  affec- 
tions in  return. 

Aunt  Mary  Ann  it  was  who  saw  the 
gallant  sufferer  '  through  it' — a  merciful  spell 
of  insensibility  at  last,  during  which  he 
crossed  the  line  without  showing  when  he 
did  it,  probably  without  knowing  anything 
about  it  himself  She  tied  up  his  jaws,  and 
put  the  pennies  on  his  eyes,  and  gave  the 
orders  to  the  undertaker,  and  wrote  the 
notice  for  the  newspapers  ;  while  Katherine, 
worn  out  and  stupefied,  lay  half  asleep  upon 
her  bed,  inca])able  of  further  effort. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  ]  93 

*  You  leave  everything  to  nie,  my  dear,' 
said  Aunt  Mary  Ann,  as  she  administered  a 
dose  of  brandy-and-water,  ahnost  by  main 
force,  to  her  niece,  and  then  patted  her  down 
upon  the  pillows.  And  the  old  lady  went 
about  the  business  of  the  occasion  with  a 
silent  alertness  and  attention  to  every  detail 
that  looked,  Lydia  said,  as  if  it  were  her 
trade  to  conduct  funerals. 

The  Hammonds  and  other  sympathizing- 
neighbours  called  to  inquire  after  Katherine, 
and  to  look  at  the  dead  man  in  his  coffin  (a 
little  ceremony  conducted  by  Mrs.  Linley  in 
each  case),  and  to  bring  flowers  to  strew 
around  him — white  hyacinths  and  narcissus 
and  lilies  of  the  valley,  the  choicest  produce 
of  their  gardens,  with  precious  sprays  of 
deutzia  and  blooms  of  white  cyclamen  from 
glass-housed  pots.  Neil  and  Jim  came  home 
immediately  on  hearing  the  news — Neil 
the  first.  But  tlie  hero  of  the  lifeb(mt,  who 
was  supposed  to  fear  nothing,  had  a  nervous 
horror  of  death  and  of  women's  tears,  and 
did  not  go  to  Weep  Hall  until  he  went  in 
black  gloves  and  flowing  hat-band,  with  his 

VOL.  I.  13 


194  NOT    ALL   IN    VAIN. 

father  and  brothers,  similarly  attired,  to  pay 
the  last  tribute  of  respect,  as  it  is  called,  to 
the  poor  clay  that  was  once  so  fine  a  man. 
He  contented  himself  with  working  through 
his  mother,  whom  he  desired  to  say  whatever 
nice  things  she  could  think  of  to  Katherine, 
and  represent  them  as  his  sentiments. 

'You  know,  don't  you,  mother,  that  I  mean 
to  marry  her  ?'  he  said  ;  and  she  replied  that 
she  had  gathered  something  of  the  sort, 
though  for  her  part  she  wished  he  would 
look  higher,  and  choose  a  girl  who  knew 
better  how  to  appreciate  him.  Nevertheless, 
if  he  had  reall}"  set  his  heart  on  it,  she  would, 
of  course,  do  her  mother's  best  to  help  him. 

'  Well,  just  get  her  here  as  soon  as  you 
can  after  it's  all  over,'  said  Neil.  '  Do  a  lot 
for  her,  and  make  her  grateful — get  her  to 
feel  at  home — make  the  father  attend  to  her 
business  for  her — and  I'll  keep  away  till  she 
has  picked  up  a  bit  and  got  back  her  spirits. 
She'll  feel  awfully  lonely  when  she  begins 
life  again,  and  women  always  want  some- 
body to  take  care  of  'em.  She  might  go  a 
long  way,'  he  added,  with  pride,  '  before  she 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  195 

found    a    man    so    cajoable    of    doing    it    as 
I  am.' 

*  Indeed  I  should  think  so  !'  asserted  the 
mother  warmly. 

*  We  must  take  her  quietly,  though,'  he 
went  on  in  a  reflective  tone.  *  I  have  been 
too  sudden  with  her  ;  and  it  won't  do — I 
can  see  that.  She's  the  very  devil  for  temper 
when  she's  roused — though  I  like  her  for  it, 
mind  you.  If  she  were  namby-pamby,  like 
most  girls,  I  shouldn't  care  a  straw  about 
her.  So  you  must  make  her  understand  that 
I  shall  keep  out  of  the  way  for  the  present 
— d'ye  see  ?  Otherwise  she'd  likely  not 
come  at  all.  She's  as  bad  as  a  wild  duck  to 
get  at,  confound  her  ;  but  I'll  bring  her  down 
before  I've  done — you  see  if  I  don't.' 

*  Well,  my  dear,  all  I  hope  is  that  you'll 
find,  when  you've  done  it,  that  you're  repaid 
for  your  trouble,'  said  Mrs.  Hammond,  and 
thereupon  she  set  forth  to  condole  with 
Katherine. 

*  My  darling,'  she  .said,  with  real  tears  in 
her  usually  merry  eyes,  as  she  held  the  girl's 
hand,  *  don't  think   of  making  any   plans — 


196  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

don't  trouble  about  anything.  Just  let  Mr. 
Hammond  take  over  all  your  business  mat- 
ters, and  come  and  rest  with  us.  We  were 
your  parents'  oldest  friends,  my  dear,  and 
regard  you  as  a  daughter  ;  it  is  right  that 
you  should  make  your  home  with  us — at  any 
rate  for  a  time.  You  shall  be  quite  quiet, 
love ;  all  the  boys  will  be  away.  We  hoped  to 
have  kept  Neil  for  awhile,  but  he  says  he  imi.st 
go  on  Thursday  without  fail,  and  that  we 
mustn't  expect  to  see  him  again  for  months 
to  come.  You  will  let  me  fetch  you  after 
the  funeral,. my  child  ?' 

'  Thank  you,  dear  Mrs.  Hammond,'  replied 
Katherine  gratefully.  '  You  are  very,  very 
good.  But  I  have  arranged  to  go  home 
with  Aunt  Mary  Ann  as  soon  as  Ave  have 
given  up  the  house.' 

'  Oh,  my  dear,  London  \xi\\  be  so  noisy  for 
you,  won't  it  ?  And  you  know  you  never 
did  find  your  aunts  very  companionable.' 

'  Aunt  Mary  Ann  and  I  are  used  to  each 
other  now,'  rejoined  Katherine  sadly.  'And 
I  have  promised  her — it  is  all  arranged.' 

*  I    shall    talk    to  your  aunt,'  said    Mrs. 


^■0T    ALL    IN     VAIN.  197 

Hammond.  But  though  she  did  so,  she 
was  unable  to  upset  the  previous  engage- 
ment. Mrs.  Linley  was  as  determined  to 
take  Katherine  away  as  Katherine  was  to  go 
with  her. 

*  At  any  rate,  you  will  come  to  us  next,' 
urged  Neil's  ambassadress,  who  did  not  be- 
lieve in  the  present  alliance  lasting  after  the 
circumstances  that  effected  it  had  passed ; 
and  she  pleaded  with  an  earnestness  that 
touched  the  heart  of  the  bereaved  girl.  But 
she  answered  that  she  could  not  make  plans 
beyond  what  were  immediately  necessary  ; 
she  would  '  see '  by-and-by,  and  let  Mrs. 
Hammond  know.  And  this  was  all  the 
satisfaction  the  latter  lady  could  take  home 
to  her  impatient  son — who  swore  consider- 
ably when  he  received  it,  but  afterward 
shared  his  mother's  opinion  that  Katherine 
would  soon  find  she  had  had  enough  of  Aunt 
Mary  Ann. 

All  the  gentlemen  in  the  district  followed 
the  dead  soldier  to  his  grave  in  the  village 
churchyard,  while  Katherine  knelt  in  his 
deserted  chamber  with  the  doors  locked,  and 


198  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

the  two  aunts  (Aunt  Ellen  having  arrived 
over-night  in  widow's  mourning,  excepting 
the  cap)  talked  together  in  the  sitting-room, 
where  the  baked  meats  and  wine  were  set 
out.  Later,  when  the  dreadful  business  was 
over,  one  and  another  attempted  the  impos- 
sible task  of  '  comforting '  the  mourner. 
Aunt  Ellen  proffered  her  own  particular 
Bible,  full  of  folded  corners  and  slips  of 
paper  ;  Mrs.  Hammond  came  down  with 
'  The  Gates  Ajar  '  ;  Mr.  Brand  with  his  red- 
leaved  *  Priests'  Prayer-Book,'  out  of  which 
to  '  read  the  service  '  (as  if  it  were  an  incanta- 
tion) exactly  appropriate  to  the  then  state  of 
affairs  ;  and  others,  stuffed  full  of  texts  and 
pious  platitudes,  did  their  little  best  in  the 
way  of  what  they  conceived  to  be  their  duty 
at  such  a  time.  But  Katherine  firmly, 
though  gently,  refused  them  all.  The  only 
friend  whom  she  would  have  admitted  to  her 
solitary  grief  was  Jim,  and  Jim  had  too 
much  delicacy  to  intrude  upon  her,  as  he 
had  too  much  reverence  for  the  mystery 
involving  them  to  handle  it  in  the  vulgar 
manner.      He   was  one   of  those — compara- 


NOT    ALL    IN     VAIN'.  199 

tively  rare  at  that  time — who  do  their 
thinking  for  themselves  in  regard  to  these 
matters,  and  his  thinking,  resulting  in  the 
inevitable  recognition  of  more  things  than 
are  dreamt  of  in  the  philosophy  of  those  who 
don't  think,  had  made  him  humble.  He 
didn't  know  what  life  and  death  and  sorrow 
meant  (like  Aunt  Ellen  and  the  rest)  ;  he 
only  knew  what  they  didn't  mean.  So  he 
held  his  tongue. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  funeral,  when  the 
solicitous  eyes  of  the  aunts  had  relaxed  their 
watch  upon  her,  Katherine  went  out  alone 
one  evening  to  see  her  father's  grave.  As 
she  entered  the  churchyard,  she  saw  that 
Jim  had  come  there  on  the  same  errand. 
They  met  with  a  silent  hand-clasp,  walked 
along  the  quiet  paths  to  the  new  mound 
under  the  east  window  (flanking  the  slab  that 
marked  the  resting-place  of  Mrs.  Knowles 
— husband  and  wife  lying  side  by  side  once 
more),  and  there  stood  still  and  looked 
down  upon  the  blank,  heaped  earth  with  that 
dumb  ache  and  tension  of  the  heart  which 
those    of    us    who    know   it    cannot   express 


200  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

in  words.  Then  Katherine,  who  had  not 
'  broken  down '  particularly  while  in  the 
compan}'-  of  the  aunts,  put  her  hands  to  her 
face  and  sobbed  with  all  the  passion  that 
was  in  her.  Jim  knew  what  she  had  lost  ; 
Jim  understood.  She  could  let  herself  go, 
now  that  she  was  alone  with  Jim.  He 
seemed  the  one  person  left  '  belonging  to  her.' 

It  was  hard  on  Jim.  He  led  her  to  an  old 
table-tomb  close  by,  and  restrained  himself 
from  putting  his  arms  about  her  with  an 
effort  that  was  almost  superhuman.  Perhaps, 
if  he  had  let  himself  go  too,  the  whole 
course  of  this  story  would  have  been  altered, 
but  he  was  a  man  of  principle,  and  not  of 
impulse,  and  he  was  resolute  not  to  j^ield  to 
what  he  believed  to  be  wrong.  At  such  a 
time  as  this,  he  told  himself,  it  would  be 
taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  her  ;  and  he 
had  already  worked  it  out  in  his  punctilious 
soul  that  a  man  should  not  ask  a  girl  to 
marry  him  while  he  was  still  some  years  from 
realizing  an  income  to  support  her — least  of 
all,  if  she  had  an}'^  income  of  her  own. 

So  he  bore  his  fiery  trial  as  best  he  could, 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  201 

sitting  beside  her  while  she  cried,  without 
Hfting  a  finger.  When  she  began  to  compose 
herself,  he  said,  in  his  ordinary  quiet  way, 
*  Come  and  have  a  little  walk  by  the  water- 
side, Katherine.' 

She  rose  at  once,  and  they  passed  together 
out  of  the  churchyard  and  out  of  the  village, 
rambling  away  into  the  solitudes  as  they 
used  to  do  when  they  were  children.  It 
was  better  than  going  back  to  the  miserable 
house. 

They  came  to  the  shores  of  the  Broad,  on 
which  they  had  had  so  many  memorable 
days'  fishing  and  bird-nesting  and  bulrush- 
gathering,  boys  and  girls  together,  and  sat 
down  under  a  black  catkined  alder  clump  on 
two  bunches  of  grass,  indifferent  as  to  how 
they  laid  up  rheumatism  and  lumbago  for 
their  old  age.  It  was  the  middle  of  April, 
and  by  that  time  the  lonely  marsh  country  had 
grown  beautiful  in  its  own  way.  The  reed- 
fringed  lagoons  were  so  many  polished 
looking-glasses  for  the  blue  and  white  sky, 
and  the  brown  and  white  sails,  and  the  green 
and   flowerv  banks  and  knolls  that  relieved 


202  NOT    ALL    I\    VAIN. 

the  Dutch-like  levels  in  this  neighbourhood. 
The  desert  blossoming  was  paralleled  by  the 
necromantic  change  that  passed  over  the 
winter-bound  landscape  when  the  breath  of 
spring  called  forth  its  latent  life — when  mead 
and  mere  were  crossed  with  the  coloured 
shadows  of  silver-bright  clouds,  and  the  wind, 
blowing  over  thick  beds  of  new  reeds  and 
grasses,  made  them  dimple  and  shimmer  like 
the  waves  of  a  summer  sea.  Nowadays 
most  people  know  how  rich  that  apparently 
desolate  country  is,  and  how  lovely  at  almost 
all  times — even  when  the  marshes  are  '  laid,' 
and  the  dead  reed-wildernesses  brittle  in  a 
black  frost — though  they  didn't  know  it 
then.  But  even  then  Katherine  knew  it, 
and  so  did  Jim — that  it  was  so  for  them,  if 
for  nobody  else. 

And  this  had  been  one  of  the  most  exqui- 
site of  those  mid- April  days.  It  was  drawing 
to  a  close  now,  and  erowing^  cold  after  the 
sun-setting,  but  an  orange  glow  still  lingered 
in  the  western  sky  and  over  the  water, 
which  was  so  shiningly  still  that  every 
object    on   it  was    duplicated  in    a    shadow 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  203 

seemingly  as  solid  as  the  substance.  A  boat 
moored  to  the  opposite  bank,  and  drifted 
out  to  the  end  of  its  tether,  looked,  with  its 
reversed  image,  to  be  suspended  in  golden  air. 
But  a  delicate  mist  was  beginning  to  creep 
up,  and  a  suggestion  of  moonlight  with  it. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

*  When    the    lilies    come    out    again,'    said 
Katherine,  '  I  shall  be  gone.' 

In  the  labyrinth  of  little  bays  and  water- 
lanes  amongst  the  reeds,  haunts  of  all  kinds 
of  nesting  wild-fowl,  the  water-lilies  bloomed 
in  summer-time  with  a  splendour  and  pro- 
fusion that  made  them  a  feature  of  the  scene, 
and  many  hundreds  of  the  cream-white  globes 
had  Jim  gathered  for  her  from  year  to  year. 

*  So  soon  !'  he  ejaculated. 

'  Yes — as  soon  as  I  can  get  away.  When 
the  furniture  is  sold  and  the  house  given  up, 
what  is  there  to  wait  for  ?  I  am  afraid  to 
wait  even  so  long  as  that.' 

*  What  are  you  afraid  of  V 

*  Of  Neil.' 

'  I  don't  think  you  need  be,  Katherine. 
He  would  not  tease  you  now.' 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  205 

*  I  feel  sure  that  if  he  knew  I  was  going 
to  my  sister  he  would  stop  me.' 

*  How  could  he  stop  you  ?' 

She  answered  with  a  dreary  little  laugh. 

*  No  other  man  could  do  it,  of  course. 
But  Neil — Neil  is  quite  capable  of  carrying 
me  off  the  ship  by  main  force,  if  necessary. 
Or,  if  he  didn't  do  that,  he'd  do  what  would 
be  infinitely  worse — go  with  me.'  She  shud- 
dered visibly  at  the  bare  thought. 

'  Well,'  said  Jim,  *  he  knows  nothing  about 
it.      I  have  not  breathed  a  word.' 

*  Do  you  think  Mr.  Alexander  ever  spoke 
of  it  ?  He's  the  only  person  who  knows, 
except  Aunt  Mary  Ann.' 

*  No  ;  I  am  sure  he  never  mentioned  the 
subject — I  should  hear  of  it  if  he  had.  And 
he's  out  of  the  way  now  —  gone  back  to 
Australia  himself,  most  likely.' 

'  Aunt  Mary  Ann  is  safe.  I  was  obliged 
to  tell  her  everything.  Aunt  Ellen,  of 
course,  would  be  a  sieve — and  she'd  take 
Neil's  j^art  against  me,  too.  But  Aunt  Mary 
Ann  is  a  sterling  creature,  with  all  her 
faults.' 


206  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

Jim  sighed,  and  kept  silence  for  awhile. 
He  had  a  slender,  rather  undersized  frame,  and 
a  thin,  sandy -haired,  ordinary  face,  but  it  was 
impossible  not  to  see  in  his  whole  aspect  and 
bearino:  that  he  was  a  o^entleman.  As  he  sat 
and  stared  at  the  fading  lights  on  the  sea-like 
expanse  of  landscape  before  him  (the  young 
reeds  had  not  grown  to  the  height  of  the  old 
ones  that  the  reed -cutters  had  removed 
during  the  winter,  and  the  long  miles  of 
marsh  and  meadow  stretched  in  unbroken 
levels  to  the  horizon),  his  grave,  intent  eyes 
and  his  expression  generally  betokened  a  man 
who  had  a  sincere  and  earnest  spirit  in  addi- 
tion to  gentle  blood.  Katherine,  as  she  sat 
on  her  rushy  tussock  beside  him  in  her  black 
frock,  with  her  tired  face,  clasping  her  knees 
with  her  large  strong  hands,  had  as  little 
conventional  beauty  as  he,  but  the  same  air  of 
good  breeding  and  essential  trustworthiness. 
In  the  course  of  nature  they  should  have 
paired  that  spring,  like  the  wild  birds  of  the 
marsh,  and  spent  the  rest  of  their  lives 
together — and  how  near  they  were  to  doing  it! 
Yet  this  would  have  been  an  inglorious  end 


NOT    ALL    IN    V^AIN.  207 

compared  with  the  one  they  subsequently 
reached. 

'  Well,'  said  Jim  at  last,  *  it's  a  cruel  thing 
to  think  of  your  being  driven  off  in  this  way 
— b}^  one  of  ?/.v.' 

'  I  should  have  gone  in  any  case,'  said 
Katherine.  *  Father  wished  it.  And  my 
sister  is  all  the  belongings  I  have  now — she 
and  Joe  and  the  children.  The  children  will 
give  me  something  to  do — which  is  what  I 
want  more  than  anything.  I  shall  teach 
them.' 

'  I  believe  it's  a  fine  country,'  remarked 
Jim,  after  another  pause. 

'  I  believe  it  is,'  she  assented,  without 
enthusiasm. 

'  I've  sometimes  thought,'  he  continued, 
with  affected  carelessness,  *  that  it  wouldn't 
be  a  bad  thing  to  tr}'  my  fortune  over  there 
when  I've  got  my  degree.  I've  heard  our 
fellows  talk  about  it  as  a  good  field  for  doc- 
tors. Here  it's  so  crowded  that  we  can't  all 
.get  a  living,  no  matter  how  we  try.' 

*  Oh,  Jim,  how  I  wish  you  would  !' 

*  Do  you  really  ?     Well,  you  might  look 


208  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN. 

round  when  you  get  there,  and  tell  me  how 
the  land  lies.' 

'  I  will  —  indeed  I  will  !  How  nice  it 
would  be  to  have  you  near  !  For  I  don't 
mean  to  come  home  again,  Jim — at  any  rate, 
not  until  I  hear  that  Neil  is  married.' 

'  I  wish  to  heaven  he  would  marry  !' 
ejaculated  Jim,  from  the  bottom  of  his  soul. 

'  Perhaps  he  will  when  I  am  out  of  the 
way.  Jim  dear,  will  you  take  care  of  father's 
grave  for  me  ?' 

'  You  needn't  ask  that,  Katherine.' 

'  And  write  to  me  sometimes  ?' 

*  Every  month  regularly,  if  I  may.' 

*  Do,  if  it  won't  bother  you.  I  don't  know 
anybody  else  whom  I  can  depend  on  to  let 
me  know  when  things  happen.' 

'  You  can  depend  on  me,'  said  Jim. 

They  talked  on  until  the  gathering  mist 
began  to  feel  damp  on  their  hands  and  faces, 
and  it  struck  them  suddenly  that  it  was  much 
later  than  they  supposed  ;  then  Jim  returned 
with  Katherine  to  the  gate  of  Weep  Hall. 
The  beautiful  old  place  (which,  however,  let 
for  forty  pounds  a  year)  looked  more  beautiful 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  209 

than  ever,  with  the  moon  shining  on  its 
massive  chimney-stacks  and  its  steep  roofs  of 
fluted  tiles.  They  looked  up  at  it  together, 
feeling  much  as  they  had  done  when  looking 
at  the  major's  grave.  Their  hearts  swelled 
with  })ain  that  could  find  no  relief  in  words. 

The  old  aunts  heard  the  click  of  the  o-ate, 
and  opened  the  casement  of  the  window  to 
call  out  simultaneously,  '  Is  that  you,  child  ?' 
in  wildly  anxious  tones.  They  had  sent 
Lydia  and  Sally  (clinging  together  and  shak- 
ing in  every  limb)  to  the  churchyard,  and  had 
themselves  searched  under  every  bed  and  in 
every  cupboard  (except  King  Charles's,  which 
was  only  accessible  by  a  ladder)  for  traces  of 
their  lost  niece  ;  and  had  worked  themselves 
up — or,  rather.  Aunt  Ellen  had — to  the  point 
of  believing  that  she  had  committed  suicide 
while  of  unsound  mind,  and  would  never  be 
heard  of  more.  So  Jim,  having  explained 
that  it  was  his  fault,  bade  her  a  hurried  good- 
night, and  left  her  to  the  scolding  and  cod- 
dling prepared  for  her. 

'  If  it  had  been  anybody  but  James,'  Aunt 
Ellen  suggested,   when,    ten    minutes    later, 

VOL.  I.  14 


210  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

Katherine  had  taken  refuge  in  her  bed,  and 
the  old  ladies  were  regaling  themselves  with 
a  tray- supper  of  cold  pie  and  bread  and  cheese 
(which  seemed  to  suit  old  ladies'  digestions 
in  those  days)  before  retiring  to  their  own. 

'  But  we  all  know  James,'  said  Aunt  Mary 
Ann  decisivel3\ 

'  I  hope  she  w^on't  take  to  this  sort  of 
thing,'  continued  Aunt  Ellen,  who  was  so 
impressed  by  the  circumstance  of  a  young- 
man  and  a  girl  being  out  alone  after  dark 
that  she  didn't  get  over  it  for  days.  '  You 
remember  the  trouble  we  had  with  Belle, 
sister  ?' 

She  would  have  liked  to  discuss  this 
delicious  anxiety  till  midnight,  but  Aunt 
Mary  Ann  refused  to  see  any  significance  in 
what  had  taken  place.  She  knew  that 
Katherine,  Jim,  and  herself  had  a  tremen- 
dous secret  between  them,  not  by  any  mean.s 
to  be  divulged  to  Aunt  Ellen  at  present. 
This  secret,  to  Mrs.  Linley's  mind,  satisfac- 
torily explained  the  imprudence — for  she  was 
free    to    confess,    she    said,   that    it    was  an 


NOT    ALL    INT    VAIN.  2il 

imprudence  —  which  poor  Katheriiie  had 
fallen  into. 

*  Luckily,'  they  both  agreed,  as  they  went 
round  with  a  candle  to  try  the  doors  and 
windows,  and  to  peep  into  the  safe  to  see 
that  Lydia  hadn't  done  anything  wrong  with 
the  cold  meat  and  the  dripping,  '  luckily, 
James  Hammond  is  a  very  steady  young 
man.' 

Next  day  Aunt  Ellen  went  back  to  her 
school,  and  Jim  went  back  to  his  work  in 
London.  A  week  later  Weep  Hall  was 
dismantled,  and  the  keys  given  up  to  his 
lordship's  agent ;  Lydia  had  gone  to  her 
married  daughter,  Sally  had  got  a  new  place, 
good-byes  had  been  said — not  too  impres- 
sively, lest  suspicions  should  be  aroused  and 
communicated  to  Neil  at  Yarmouth  ;  and 
Aunt  Mary  Ann,  with  the  orphan  in  charge, 
returned  to  her  old  man,  who,  together  with 
his  establishment,  was  by  this  time  in  a 
parlous  state. 

While  she  busied  herself  in  what  she 
called   '  riffht-sidincf '   thins^s  within  her  own 

o  o  o 

domain,  Jim  and   Katherine,  necessarily  un- 


212  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

chaperoned  since  the  fear  of  Neil  forbade 
the  admission  of  another  person  to  the  secret, 
went  to  look  at  ships. 

Jim's  preliminary  inquiries  resulted  in  the 
selection  of  two — sailing  ships,  of  course,  for 
in  those  days  Orient  liners  were  not,  and  the 
P.  and  O.  ran  its  shabbiest  boat  but  once  a 
month,  which  was  as  often  as  England  and 
Australia  had  news  of  each  other.  The 
Huntingdonshire,  a  fine  new  clipper  of  the 
Money  Wigram  line,  was  the  vessel  finally 
decided  on,  for  the  reason  that  it  was  to  sail 
first,  and  also  because  it  was  captained  b}^  a 
brother-in-law  of  one  of  Jim's  medical  stu- 
dent chums.  When  he  and  Katherine  paid 
their  second  visit  to  it  (to  take  measurements 
for  cabin  furniture,  which  the  passengers  of 
that  time  had  to  provide  for  themselves),  the 
girl  was  consciously  elated  by  its  spacious 
and  majestic  air,  and  the  prospect  before  her 
to  which  its  comfortable  appointments  gave 
shape — for  they  wen'  comfortable  then, 
though  we  should  turn  up  our  noses  at  them 
now.  She  had  young  blood  in  her  veins,  and 
she  had  thirsted  to  live  largely  and  to  see 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN.  213 

the  world,  thouirh  she  had  never  murmured 
against  the  circumstances  that  had  restricted 
her,  or  felt  herself  deprived  in  any  way. 
The  sea,  that  she  had  had  the  smell  of  all 
her  life,  was  a  passion  with  her,  and  the  true 
spirit  of  the  sea-voyager  was  hers,  dauntless, 
adventurous,  unfettered,  braced  by  a  perfectly 
sound  physical  constitution,  toughened  in  its 
turn  by  habits  of  almost  austere  simplicity. 
And,  amongst  all  her  trials  of  courage,  one 
of  the  severest  was  spared  her.  No  one 
was  left  to  her  now  to  part  from,  of  near 
and  dear — save  Jim. 

But  she  was  surprised  to  find  how  nmch 
she  disliked  to  part  from  Jim,  the  brother- 
like companion,  to  whose  unfailing  support 
in  her  griefs  and  cares  she  had  grown  so 
thoroughl}^  accustomed.  He  and  Aunt 
Mary  Ann  went  to  the  docks  to  see  her  off 
— her  hurry  to  hide  from  the  possibly  prowl- 
ing Neil  was  such  that  she  refused  to  embark 
at  Gravesend  or  Plymouth,  thereby  to  post- 
pone the  painful  moment  until  it  was 
necessary  to  meet  it ;  and  the  ex2)erience  of 
that  bright  May  morning  made  a  cliangc  in 


214  NOT    ALL    [N    VAIN. 

the  relationship  between  the  two  young 
people,  though  not  the  change  it  ought  to 
have  done. 

They  were  very  subdued  amidst  the  ex- 
citement around  them,  and  made  the  most 
commonplace  remarks  to  each  other,  chiefly 
in  the  way  of  criticism  upon  the  appearance 
of  various  members  of  the  crowd  that 
pressed  upon  them.  Jim  introduced  the 
captain  as  soon  as  that  gentleman  came  on 
board ;  it  w^as  the  first  chance  that  had 
offered  of  making  him  and  Katherine  ac- 
quainted. The  captain  had  already  been  told 
about  her,  and  that  she  was  to  be  ])ut  under 
his  charge,  and,  naturally,  was  not  predis- 
posed to  enthusiasm  respecting  her  or  the 
arrangement.  Many  ladies  were  put  under 
his  charge,  and  a  great  nuisance  to  him  they 
were,  as  a  rule,  until  happily  got  rid  of ;  he 
always  sighed  and  uttered  a  bad  word  when 
he  heard  of  another  coming.  However, 
when  he  saw  Katherine — and  he  looked  at 
her  with  a  keenly  critical  eye — he  was  re- 
assured, though  he  did  not  take  her  on  trust 
by   an}'    means,   and    found    her    negatively 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  21,') 

rather  than  positively  pleasing.  He  glanced 
at  the  smooth  bright  hair,  under  a  plain 
straw  hat,  at  the  useful  scant  skirt  and  short 
double-breasted  jacket,  all  sensible  and  ship- 
shape, and  noted  her  quiet  air  of  reserve 
and  self-possession  amid  the  hysterical  bustle 
going  on  around  her  ;  and  he  said  to  himself 
that  she  didn't  look  as  if  she'd  be  a  bother 
on  deck  and  keep  him  from  eating  his  dinner 
peaceably. 

'  Glad  to  see  you.  Miss  Knowles  !  Glad 
to  do  anything  I  can  for  you,'  he  said 
abruptly,  in  a  rich  sea- voice  that  was 
evidently  not  used  to  soft  phrases  ;  and  he 
gave  her  a  quick,  strong,  perfunctory  hand- 
shake. '  You'll  excuse  me  just  now,  Mr. 
Hammond.  We  shall  be  ofif  in  half  an 
hour,  and  there  are  several  things  I  must 
attend  to.' 

*  He  seems  a  bit  rough,'  said  Jim.  '  But 
Barry  says  that's  only  on  the  outside  ; 
there's  a  good  heart  at  the  bottom.' 

'  I  like  him,'  Katherine  answered,  with 
decision.  *  He  looks  like  a  man  who  attends 
to  his   proper  business,  and  while  lie's  doing 


216  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

that  he'll  be  paying*  nie  all  the  attention  I 
shall  ask  of  him.' 

Silence  fell  on  the  parting  friends,  and  a 
something  that  was  like  embarrassment, 
only,  instead  of  being  outside,  it  went  all 
through  them,  a  growing  strain  upon  their 
powers  of  endurance  that  neither  was  anxious 
to  prolong.  They  began  to  feel  that,  since 
the  wrench  had  to  come,  it  was  better  to  get 
it  over.  Aunt  Mary  Ann  was  of  the  same 
way  of  thinking.  She  was  much  attached 
to  her  niece,  but  not  to  the  extent  of  feeling 
a  need  to  contribute  to  the  deluo-e  of  tears 
around  her,  or  to  harrow  herself  with  a  lonof- 
drawn  leave-taking  ;  moreover,  her  old  man 
at  home  was  an  invalid  to-day,  and  would  be 
wanting  the  beef-tea  which  only  she  could 
make  as  it  should  be  made.  Consequently, 
when  Katherine,  with  a  stiff  white  face, 
proposed  that  they  should  say  good-bye  now 
instead  of  in  the  bustle  of  the  last  moment, 
there  was   no  protest  offered. 

'  Just  as  well,'  said  Aunt  IMary  Ann,  '  and 
get  yourself  comfortable  before  the  ship 
starts.      We  can't  do  anything  more  for  you, 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN.  217 

and  it's  no  kindness  to  be  hanging  round 
with  long  faces  and  making  you  miserable.' 

And  Mrs.  Linley  proceeded  to  hug  and 
kiss  and  God  bless  her  niece  with  a  motherly 
fervour  that  for  a  moment  qualified  her  to 
share  in  the  tragedy  of  imminent  bereave- 
ment that  was  being  acted  on  all  sides  ;  and 
Katherine  responded  with  more  than  equal 
warmth. 

Jim  came  next,  and  she  and  Jim  held  each 
other's  hands  for  one  unspeakable  half-minute. 
Then,  with  a  mutual  impulse,  they  kissed 
each  other.  Neither  knew  which  had  been 
the  first  to  do  it,  and  Jim  didn't  dare  to 
interpret  the  action  as  an  invitation  to  speak 
what  his  heart  was  full  of  Even  in  that 
exquisite,  suffering  moment,  he  was  able  to 
preserve  himself  and  her  from  a  false  step. 

*  Remember,'  he  said  hurriedly,  in  a  choked 
voice,  *  remember  you  have  always  me — such 
as  I  am '      He  could  say  no  more. 

*  Yes,  dear,  yes,'  she  whispered  back. 
*  Oh,  Jim,  do  come  to  Australia  as  soon  as 
you  have  got  your  diploma.' 

*  I    will,'    he    said,  not   choking  now,   but 


218  NOT    ALL    JX    VAIN. 

uttering  the  words  steadily  and  solemnly  as 
if  it  were  his  marriage  service.  '  If  I  live — 
if  you  don't  come  back — I  will.' 

Five  minutes  later  Jim,  urged  by  Kath- 
erine  not  to  linger  about  where  she  could  see 
him,  was  on  his  way  back  to  his  hospital, 
with  a  sick-looking  face  and  a  heart  like  lead 
— Aunt  Mary  bustling  home  to  her  old  man 
in  another  direction  ;  and  Katherine  having 
threaded  her  way  through  the  crowd  on  deck 
to  the  after  end  of  the  yet  empty  cuddy,  was 
sitting  in  her  cabin,  with  her  elbows  on  her 
knees  and  her  face  in  her  hands,  going 
through  the  last  violent  paroxysm  of  tears, 
that  she  permitted  herself  to  indulge  in  over 
the  pains  and  trials  of  this  period  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  cabins  lined  the  saloon  on  either  side, 
each  pair  being  divided  by  a  little  passage, 
masked  with  a  red  curtain  ;  and  there  were 
two  large  ones  astern,  one  used  by  the  captain, 
and  the  other  engaged  for  a  gentleman  who 
had  not  yet  joined.      Katherine's  was  next 
the  captain's,  and  contained  two  berths,  not 
one  above  the  other,  but  side  by  side,  with  a 
slip   of  space   between  just  wide  enough  to 
turn  round  in,  and  a  fixed  washstand  opposite 
the  door.       The    bunk    next    the    Venetians 
covered  a  pair  of  corded  wooden  boxes,  and  was 
filled   with   unopened  parcels  addressed  to  a 
Mrs.  Bellamy,  who,  to  the  relief  of  her  fellow- 
lodger,  was  evidently  not  intending  to  embark 
that  morning  ;  and  the  girl  cheerfully  took 
possession  of  the  other,    which  was  built  to 


220  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

the  ship's  side,  and  hoped  the  sea  that  was 
so  near  would  not  drip  in  upon  her  unawares 
at  night  through  the  scuttle  overhead.  Jim 
had  driven  her  hooks  and  nails,  hung  up  her 
looking-glass,  her  book-case,  her  swing-tray, 
her  brown-hoUand  pockets,  all  her  neat  con- 
trivances for  economizing  the  small  space  at 
her  disposal  ;  she  had  not  much  to  do  except 
to  get  out  soap  and  towels,  spread  some 
spare  clothes  upon  the  boards  at  the  bottom 
of  her  bunk,  and  arrange  her  bed  above  them 
— a  feather  bed  (orig-inallv  o-Jeaned  from  the 
poultry-yard  at  Weej^  Hall)  which  Aunt 
Mar}'^  Ann  had  pressed  upon  her  niece  as  a 
parting  present  and  a  safeguard  for  stormy 
nights,  together  with  a  patchwork  quilt  of 
her  own  manufacture.  There  were  battens 
on  the  floor,  provided  by  the  thoughtful  Jim, 
and  Aunt  Mary  Ann's  turkey  twill  valance 
nailed  along  the  bottom  of  the  bunk.  In  a 
short  time  all  was  stowed  and  tidy  as  far  as 
that  side  of  the  room  was  concerned — by  the 
time  the  shadow  of  the  wharf  wall  was 
removed  from  the  open  window,  and  the  blue 
May  morning  came  shining  in. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  221 

When  the  sun  began  to  throw  reflections 
of  quivering  ripples  upon  the  ceiHng,  Kathe- 
rine  put  on  her  hat  to  go  upstairs.  The 
cuddy  was  still  empty,  for  only  a  few  cabin 
passengers  had  embarked  as  yet,  and  those 
few  were  leaning  over  the  poop-rail,  waving 
farewell  hands  and  handkerchiefs  to  the 
friends  who  had  been  seeing  them  off".  It 
was  the  cuddy  of  those  days — not  the  saloon 
of  these — dining,  drawing  and  music  rooms 
in  one  (the  deck  was  the  only  smoking-room), 
with  a  long  table  down  the  middle,  flanked 
with  fixed  benches  having  hinged  backs,  like 
those  in  American  railway  carriages,  and  no 
other  furniture  to  speak  of ;  but  it  was  in  its 
time  a  model  of  marine  elegance  and  comfort, 
and  would  not  be  despised  by  a  good  many 
of  us  now.  Panelled  in  shining  mahogany 
throughout,  with  flutings  and  florid  carvings 
here  and  there  (the  latter  making  a  gorgeous 
capital  for  the  podgy  column  between  table 
and  ceiling  that  pretended  not  to  be  the 
mizzen-mast)  ;  carpeted,  curtained,  table - 
clothed,  and  cushioned  in  a  shade  of  crimson 
that  warmed  the  eye  like  a  Christmas  fire  ; 


222  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

lamps  and  swing-trays  glittering  like  bur- 
nished gold ;  glasses  twinkling  in  their 
racks  ;  flowers  blooming  in  hanging  pots  and 
baskets,  and  the  spring  sunshine  ])ouring 
through  the  skylights  overhead — it  looked 
so  bright  and  splendid  at  this  best  of 
moments,  before  the  ocean  brine  had  stained 
it,  that  it  was  no  wonder  Katherine  hngered 
to  look  round  admiringly.  Such  luxury  of  sea- 
voyaging  was  rather  wonderful  to  one  who 
had  never  lived  in  any  luxurj-  on  dry  land. 

The  noises  on  deck  drew  her  up  the 
companion-stairs,  and  when  she  emerged 
upon  the  poop  she  found  the  ship  was  already 
in  the  river,  and  the  voyage  begun.  The  tug 
was  bustling  along  bravely,  like  an  ant  with 
a  helpless  dragon-fly,  making  its  industrious 
way  through  a  crowd  of  coming  and  going 
vessels  of  every  size  and  shape,  and  a  scene 
generall}?^  that  was  too  picturesque  and  curi- 
ous to  leave  our  young  lady  any  interest  to 
spare  for  her  fellow-passengers  at  present,  or 
even  for  lunch,  which  was  shortly  on  the 
table,  and  to  which  she  was  accustomed  to 
bring  the  wholesome  appetite  of  youth  and 


NUT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  '223 

health.  There  was  a  fresh  wind  that  made 
her  double-breasted  jacket  a  comfort  to  her, 
and  with  it  a  brilliant  sun  in  which  skylights 
and  scuttles  flashed  like  jewels  and  brass-work 
twinkled  like  flames  of  fire,  while  still  a  ten- 
der haze  of  smoke  gave  a  dreamy  vagueness 
to  the  distances  of  silvery  sky  and  water  and 
the  delicate  outlines  of  far-ofl*  ships  and 
shores.  Standing  quietly  apart,  she  gazed 
at  the  moving  panorama  with  thoughtful  but 
quite  dry  eyes,  while  the  other  passengers 
chattered  in  groups  and  mingled  their  tears 
together.  The  pilot  was  bawling  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  against  the  wind,  and  a  mate 
repeating  his  orders  to  the  tug,  which  made 
a  great  commotion  of  foam  and  smoke, 
meeting  a  constantly  freshening  breeze  and 
a  dancing  rii)plo  that  gave  a  good  idea  of 
what  the  Chamiel  swell  would  be  presently. 
And  no  one  seemed  to  notice  the  solitary 
figure  until,  at  the  end  of  some  hours,  the 
captain  sauntered  up  to  speak  to  her. 

'  A  fine  day  to  start  with.  Miss  Knowles.' 
'Beautiful,'   she    answered,    in    a    steady, 


'224  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

cheerful  voice  that  he  hked  to  hear.  '  I  am 
enjoying  it  greatly.' 

'  That's  right.  I  hope  you'll  feel  the  same 
to-morrow  at  this  time.  What  sort  of  sailor 
are  you  ?' 

'  I  don't  know — I  have  only  done  'long- 
shore boating,  and  very  little  of  that.  But 
I  think  I  am  sure  to  be  a  good  one.' 

'  That  will  go  a  long  way  to  make  you  so.' 
He  looked  round  consideringly.  *  Know  any 
of  these  people  ?' 

'No.' 

*  Would  you  like  me  to  introduce  any- 
body V 

'  No,  thank  you.' 

'  You'd  rather  select  for  yourself  at  leisure? 
Quite  right.  Well,  we  shall  pick  up  some 
more  at  Gravesend  and  Plymouth.' 

And  then  he  felt  he  had  done  his  dut}^  by 
his  brother-in-law  and  Mr.  James  Hammond, 
and  went  below. 

Luncheon  on  board  the  Huntiiigdorishire 
was  a  '  snack,'  and  not  a  meal ;  bread  and 
ship  biscuit,  butter  and  cheese,  cake  and 
marmalade,  were  the  modest  materials  that 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  225 

composed  it ;  but  as  dinner  was  served  at 
the  very  early  (or  very  late)  hour  of  four  in 
the  afternoon,  a  substantial  re^^ast  between 
it  and  the  solid  breakfast  at  half-past  eight 
would  have  been  an  outrage  upon  the  liveliest 
appetite.  And  the  function  of  the  day  was 
appropriately  elaborate  and  various,  and  satis- 
fying to  all  but  a  few  miserable  creatures 
who  were  never  satisfied  with  anything.  The 
ship  forward  was  stuffed  with  sheep  and  pigs, 
and  the  coops  aft  with  poultry ;  the  advertised 
cow  was  genuine,  the  cook  a  person  of  ability 
and  resource,  and  the  commissary  department 
generally  administered  in  a  handsome  spirit 
— especially  when  it  is  considered  that  a 
passenger's  board,  lodging,  and  travelling 
expenses  amounted  to  something  less  than 
ten  shillings  a  day. 

When  the  first  dinner-bell  rang  at  half- 
past  three,  Katherine,  feeling  distinctly 
hungry  by  this  time,  went  below  to  hang  up 
her  hat  and  jacket,  to  do  her  hair,  which  the 
wind  liad  disarranged,  and  to  slip  a  fresh 
linen  collar  into  the  neck  of  her  black  gown. 
At  four  she  came  out  looking  strikingly  fresh 

VOL.    L  15 


226  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

and  neat,   and  the  captain  at  the  same  mo- 
ment    emerged    from    the    adjoining    cabin, 
where  he  had  washed  his  hands  and  driven 
a    vigorous    hair-brush    through    his    thick 
brown  locks.      They    approached   the    table 
together,  and,  when  she  hesitated  to  choose 
her  seat,  he  led  her  to  the  forward  end  and 
pointed  to  that  on  his  left  hand.     She  looked 
so  thoroughly  nice,  with  her  wholesome,  sensi- 
ble face  and  satin-smooth  head  (smooth  heads 
were    the   fashion  then,   and    her    hair  was 
beautiful),  that  he  felt  he  might  be  combining 
pleasure  to  himself  with  duty  to  Mr.  Ham- 
mond in  according  her  that  honourable  ]:)lace. 

*  You  had  better  sit  by  me.  Miss  Knowles,' 
he  said  to  her  ;  and  to  the  head  steward, 
who  stood  by  :  '  Let  this  be  Miss  Knowles' 
seat.  If  any  married  lady  on  this  side 
thinks  she  ought  to  have  it,  tell  her  Miss 
Knowles  is  travelling  under  my  charge.' 

His  quick  eyes,  that  were  thought  to  be 
hard  and  cold,  gave  her  a  friendly  look  as  he 
sat  down,  and  she  returned  it  with  frank 
pleasure.  Though  she  did  not  mean  him  to 
feel  her  a  charge,  she  was  gratified  by  this 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  227 

public  statement  of  her  position  as  such. 
She  took  her  seat  beside  him,  and  kept  it 
for  the  remainder  of  the  voyage. 

The  lady  on  his  other  hand  was  a  buxom 
widow  named  Brodie,  with  high-coloured 
complexion  and  suspiciously  golden  hair  ; 
and  he  oToaned  within  himself  when  she 
advanced,  rustling  and  smiling,  the  whole 
length  of  the  table  towards  hira,  though  he 
rose  politely  to  receive  her.  She  was  a  few 
minutes  late  for  dinner,  but  she  was  early  on 
board,  on  purpose  that  she  might  catch  the 
worm  80  nmch  desired  by  lady  passengers — 
a  seat  by  the  captain.  Indeed,  she  confessed 
to  this  stratagem  at  once.  *  I  always  have. 
sat  by  the  ca})tain,  and  I  always  will,'  she 
declared,  in  a  high  tone  and  with  the  air  of  a 
coquettish  girl  (she  was  well  past  forty,  and 
of  remarkable  stoutness).  '  I  was  particu- 
larly determined  to  sit  by  ijou.  Captain 
Kennedy,  for  I  have  heard  so  much  of  you.' 
But  she  had  not  heard  whether  he  was 
married  or  single,  which  was  the  matter  of 
first  importance.  *  And  that  was  the  sole 
and   only  reason   why  I   embarked  at  these 


228  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

nasty  docks,  instead  of  joining  the  ship  at 
Plymouth — that  no  horrid  woman  might  get 
before  me.'  She  bestowed  on  him  the  lan- 
guishing ogle  that  betokened  the  hardened 
man-hunter,  and  then  stared  at  Katherine  as 
if  to  ask  by  what  right  she  had  taken  the 
lead  of  the  ladies  on  the  starboard  side. 

Captain  Kennedy  intimated  that  he  felt 
highly  honoured.  He  hoped  Mrs.  Brodie 
would  not  feel  the  long  walk  from  her  cabin 
astern  too  much  for  her.  Sometimes  ladies 
— those  who  suffered  from  the  motion  of  the 
ship — were  glad  to  have  a  seat  handy  that 
the}"  could  get  to,  and  particularly  get  from 
quickly. 

*  And  I  am  a  shocking  sailor,'  laughed 
Mrs.  Brodie.  '  However,  I  hear  j^ou  have  a 
very  nice  doctor.  Which  is  he  ?'  She 
looked  round  at  the  little  company  assembled, 
and  the  captain  pointed  out  a  handsome 
youth  with  a  fair  moustache,  sitting  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table.  It  was  evident  from 
the  widow's  face  that  she  was  charmed  with 
his  appearance.  Some  ladies  might  have 
objected  that  he  was  too  young,  but  she  saw 


NOT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  229 

no  fault  of  that  kind.  It  almost  seemed  as 
if  sea-sickness  (being  yet  in  the  future)  lost 
its  terrors  when  she  looked  at  that  sweet 
3'oung  doctor. 

'  Besides,'  she  said,  '  I  am  not  quite  astern, 
as  you  call  it.  There  are  two  cabins  beyond 
mine.  Who  have  taken  the  end  one,  captain  ? 
It  is  locked.' 

'  A  gentleman — who  has  it  to  himself,' 
said  Captain  Kennedy,  wiping  a  drop  of 
soup  from  his  curly  beard  and  looking  impa- 
tient for  the  next  course. 

*  That's  no  answer,  now.  What  sort  of 
a  gentleman  ?  Old  or  young  ?  Married  or 
single  V 

*  Young  and  single,  I  believe.  And,  I 
have  also  heard,  handsome.' 

Mrs.  Brodie's  bold  black  eyes,  which  did 
not  seem  to  '  go '  with  her  butter-coloured 
hair,  shone  with  satisfaction.  '  Then  I  shall 
insist  on  having  him  sit  by  me,'  she  said, 
with  that  coquettish  wilfulness  which  she 
believed  irresistible  in  a  pretty  woman. 
'  Promise  me  you  will  keep  him  a  place  at 
this  end,  captain  V 


230  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

*  Oh,  we  don't  keep  places.  First  come 
first  served.  And  one  place  is  as  good  as 
another.' 

'  I  don't  think  so,'  she  rejoined  with  a 
meaning  smile. 

The  person  who  sat  by  her  just  now  was 
a  solemn,  pale  little  girl  of  about  seven, 
whose  extreme  unlikeness  to  her  mother 
suggested  that  she  nmst  be  the  image  of  the 
other  parent.  Being  the  only  child  in  the 
first  class,  and  having  no  nurse,  she  was 
introduced  to  the  cuddy  table  b}'  Mrs.  Brodie, 
who  only  told  the  truth  when  she  said  that 
Elvira  would  be  no  annoj^ance  to  grown-up 
people.  The  grave  little  creature,  being 
popped  down  upon  her  seat,  scarceh^  moved 
or  spoke  until  she  left  it,  and  ate  her  dinner 
with  the  utmost  propriety.  She  wore  a 
short  white  frock,  in  which  she  looked 
ver}'  cold,  and  her  hair  stood  away  from 
her  narrow  face  in  a  prodigious  mass 
of  fuzz  that  answered  its  end  by  fascinat- 
ing every  eye  that  saw  it  (it  collapsed  by 
degrees  as  the  ship  proceeded,  until  it  hung 
quite    straight,    and    Katherine    braided    it 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  231 

into  a   pigtail  ;    then    Elvira    looked    much 
better). 

Between  the  child  and  her  next  neighbour 
on  the  port  side  there  was  a  large  gap  at 
present ;  then  came  two  rather  raw-looking 
young    men,   named    Hallett    and    Enright. 
They  were  travelling  with  a  Mr.  Terry,  who 
was  not  yet  on  board — young  hobbledehoys 
whom  he  had  undertaken  to  *  shape.'      Mr. 
Terry  had  begun  life  in  Australia  with   no 
capital,  except  his  own  excellent  brains,  and 
had   made   a   good   thing  of  it,  destined  to 
develop  into  better  and  best  in  due  course  of 
time.      He  had  passed  through  the  stages  of 
free  selector  and   '  boss  cocky '  to  that  of  a 
farmer  and  grazier  in  a  substantial  way,  and 
was    about    to    take    rank    with    the    great 
squatters,  whose  title  was  already  given  to 
him  (because  he  looked  so  exactly  like  one). 
And  he  was  bringing  out  the  two  youths, 
sons  of  old  friends  at  home,  to  learn  colonial 
experience  on  his  '  station,'  which  was  mainly 
worked  by  emigrants  of  their  class.      They 
paid  him   £300   a  year  each,  and  saved  him 
the  expense  of  hired  labour,  and  when  they 


232  NOT    ALL    IX    VAIN. 

got  sick  of  ploughing  and  fencing  and  milk- 
ing the  cows,  he  sent  to  England  for  some 
more.  On  this  occasion  he  had  taken  a  well- 
earned  holiday  himself,  to  see  his  family  and 
stir  up  the  spirit  of  enterprise  amongst  the 
young  men  of  his  acquaintance,  leaving  the 
control  of  his  affairs  in  Victoria  to  Mrs. 
Terry,  who  was  as  good  a  man  of  business 
as  he  was.  Hallett  was  a  sharp-faced, 
skinny  fellow,  wuth  an  air  of  intelligence  and 
activity;  Enright,  a  big,  amiable-looking  boy, 
with  a  receding  chin.  They  occupied  a 
compartment  adjoining  Mrs.  Brodie's,  but 
with  a  bulkhead  and  not  a  passage  between 
them,  and  they  would  have  been  objects  of 
interest  to  that  lady  had  they  not  been  over- 
shadowed by  the  superior  qualifications  of 
the  doctor  and  the  unknown  gentleman  who 
had  taken  the  stern  cabin. 

Still  lower  down  sat  the  doctor  himself; 
he  and  the  chief  mate  had  the  two  foremost 
cabins,  whence  they  could  look  out  upon  the 
main  deck  from  windows  at  the  foot  of  their 
beds,  but  as  the  fore  end  of  the  table  was 
made  the  head  by  the  captain's  choice  of  it, 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  233 

the  chief  mate  filled  the  chair  at  the  other 
when  he  came  to  meals,  and  his  medical 
colleague  supported  him  ;  and  the  latter 
completed  the  list  of  port-side  persons  pre- 
sent. On  Katherine's  left  hand  sat  a  Mr. 
Barrett,  a  jolly  old  fellow  with  a  bottle  nose 
and  an  enormous  waistcoat,  who  had  amassed 
much  wealth  as  a  store-keeper  on  the  gold- 
fields,  and  had  been  home  to  display  and 
enjoy  it  amongst  the  wonder-stricken  bump- 
kins of  his  native  village.  Mrs.  Brodie 
marvelled  at  his  assurance  in  taking  so  high 
a  place,  when  (as  a  steward  had  informed  her) 
there  was  a  major  coming,  as  well  as  a 
wealthy  squatter  whose  wife  and  daughter 
were  attended  by  a  maid ;  and  she  stared  at  the 
plebeian  person  in  a  cold  and  haughty  manner 
and  tried  to  make  fun  of  his  appearance  witli 
the  captain,  who  resolutely  refused  to  see  it. 
Katherine,  however,  preferred  Mr.  Barrett 
as  a  neighbour  to  the  gentleman  who  shared 
his  cabin  and  sat  next  to  him — a  rather  loud 
and  self-assertive  clergyman  named  Parker, 
who  was  understood  to  be  a  personage  in  the 
colonial   Church,  and    evidently    desired    to 


234  NOT    ALL    IN     VAIN. 

maintain  that  position  in  all  societies.  He 
also  had  a  large  waistcoat  and  an  air  of  living 
comfortably,  but  there  was  no  genial  flavour 
about  him,  as  about  the  old  store-keeper, 
who  misplaced  his  h's  and  put  his  knife  into 
his  mouth. 

Near  the  clergyman  sat  an  old  lady  in 
spectacles,  whose  scant  gray  hair  was  gath- 
ered into  a  knot  the  size  of  a  walnut  at  the 
back  of  her  capless  head.  She  was  a  Miss 
Blake,  going  out  to  succour  the  \'oung  family 
of  a  newly-widowed  nephew,  and  looked  the 
gentlest  and  sweetest  of  old  maids.  Beyond 
her  a  dark-eyed  young  Dutch  gentleman 
named  Van  der  Veen  (he  belonged  to  the 
other  side,  and  subsequently  crossed  over) 
sat  l»y  himself,  looking  rather  lonely,  for  he 
was  not  yet  expert  in  the  English  language, 
and  was  travelling  without  any  coni])anion — 
he  also  on  the  wa\^  to  learn  colonial  experi- 
ence, with  letters  of  introduction  in  his 
writing-case  and  a  perfect  magazine  of  fire- 
arms (presumably  for  the  destruction  of  wild 
beasts)  in  the  hold.  And  these,  with  the 
second  officer,  a  tiny  man  with  an  enormous 


NUT    ALL    IX    VAIX.  235 

yellow  beard  (the  first  officer  had  a  hairless 
face,  and  was  about  the  size  of  Bill  Thwaites), 
comprised  all  the  company  that  assembled  at 
dinner  on  the  first  day. 

It  was  the  season  of  roast  beef,  and  the 
captain  stayed  to  eat  a  slice  ;  then  he  went 
on  deck.  By  the  time  dessert  was  over  the 
Huntiuijdonsliire  had  brought  up  at  Graves- 
end,  and  the  passengers  followed  him  upstairs 
to  see  what  was  to  be  seen.  Katherine 
planted  her  deck-chair — a  parting  present 
from  Jim — in  the  most  sheltered  corner  she 
could  find,  and,  with  a  warm  shawl  round  her 
shoulders  and  a  woollen  hood  enveloping  her 
head,  sat  down  to  watch  the  old  passengers 
go  ashore  and  the  new  ones  come  on  board. 
As  the  ship  was  to  lie  oflf  Gravesend  till  next 
morning  they  dribbled  to  and  fro  till  dark. 

The  captain  was  one  of  the  first  to  go,  and 
as  his  gig  swei)t  from  the  gangway  Mrs. 
Brodie  looked  after  it  with  yearning  eyes, 
*  Oh,  how  I  should  love  to  go  ashore — how  1 
should  love  to  go,  if  only  I  had  someone  to 
take  me  !'  she  cried,  in  a  voice  audible  to  all 
the  gentlemen  standing  round  her. 


236  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN, 

There  was  a  little  silence  and  a  stealthy 
dispersal  of  the  grouj),  but  one  man  did  not 
move,  and  he  said,  with  some  shyness  and 
much  difficulty,  'I — vill — take — you — wif — 
pleasure.' 

*  Oh,  thank  you  !  Hoiv  kind  !'  She  looked 
beyond  the  Dutch  gentleman  to  the  handsome 
doctor  and  burly  first  mate,  and  to  Messi's. 
Hallett  and  Enright,  who,  though  young, 
were  men  who  could  talk  to  her  ;  but  Van 
der  Veen  was  her  only  squire,  and  he  was 
signalling  to  a  waterman  with  great  vigour. 
Turning  to  Elvira,  who  stood  shivering  be- 
hind her  in  a  fantastic  little  cloak  that  left 
her  long  thin  legs  exposed  to  the  keen 
wind,  she  said  hastily  :  '  You  stay  here  till 
I  come  back.  And  if  you  get  sleepy,  go 
to  bed.  You  can  put  j^ourself  to  bed,  can't 
you  ?' 

*  I  don't  know  where   my  night-gown  is,' 
said  Elvira. 

*  Well,  never  mind — I  shan't  be  late.    Just 
sit  here  and  wait  for  me.' 

Katherine    leaned    forward  and  took  the 
poor  child's  hand.      '  I  will  take  care  of  her 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  237 

till  you  return,'  she  said.  *  Come,  dear,  and 
sit  with  me  under  my  warm  shawl.' 

*  Oh,  thank  you !'  cried  Mrs.  Brodie,  scarcely 
turning  to  see  who  had  spoken.  And  having 
previously  dressed  herself"  in  readiness  for 
possibilities,  she  skipped  down  the  poop  lad- 
der and  over  the  gangwa}^  with  an  agility 
quite  wonderful  for  a  woman  of  her  size. 

At  first  Elvira  was  not  responsive.  She 
did  not  seem  to  understand  having  arms  put 
round  her,  a.s  if  she  were  a  baby,  and  she 
showed  a  desire  to  sit  friendlessly  upon  the 
windy  skylight,  which  Katherine  indulged 
for  a  minute  or  two — until  she  could  bear  the 
siofht  of  the  child's  evident  discomfort  no 
longer  ;  then  she  snatched  her  up  suddenly, 
took  off  the  finely-feathered  hat  and  laid  the 
little  head,  bedded  in  its  fuzz  of  hair,  on  her 
breast,  drawing  her  shawl  quite  over  it  ; 
turned  U])  the  skirt  of  her  own  warm  gown, 
and  tucked  it  round  the  danjjflinuf  le^rs,  and 
finally  gathered  the  whole  frail  body  closely 
into  her  .strong  supporting  arms.  Elvira, 
finding  her  irresistible,  yielded  decorously, 
but  she  did  not  say  a  word,  and  her  protec- 


238  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

tress  made  no  attempt  at  conversation.  For 
a  few  minutes  the  solemn  eyes  peered  wist- 
fully upwards  from  behind  a  fold  of  shawl, 
and  then  they  drooped  and  closed  ;  in  the 
motherly  warmth  and  shelter  the  poor  child 
found  the  rest  and  comfort  she  was  in  need 
of,  and  fell  into  a  sleep  that  in  its  depth  and 
stillness  showed  the  extent  of  the  weariness 
she  had  not  permitted  herself  to  complain  of, 

*  The  dear  little  creature  1'  said  old  Miss 
Blake,  timidly  venturing  near  to  exchange  a 
word  with  the  pleasant-faced  girl.  '  Just  the 
age  of  my  poor  nephew  John's  eldest.  But 
don't  you  think  she  ought  to  be  in  bed  ?' 

*  Certainly  she  ought,'  replied  Katherine 
sternly.  '  But  her  mother  has  left  hei-,  and 
I  don't  like  to  go  into  Mrs.  Brodie's  cabin 
and  meddle  with  her  things.  Till  she  comes 
back  I  will  nurse  the  poor  child  here.  She 
is  quite  warm  and  comfortable.' 

And  she  nursed  Elvira  till  her  arms  were 
numb,  and  her  feet,  protruding  from  a  short 
quilted  petticoat,  as  cold  as  stones  ;  till  the 
fresh  May  night  grew  wild  and  dark,  and  all 
the  Gravesend  passengers  had  come  on  board ; 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  1^89 

till  the  cuddy  had  had  its  tea,  its  rubber  of 
whist,  its  tinkle  on  the  piano,  its  final  grog 
and  biscuit  ;  till  the  first  officer,  peering  along 
the  poop,  like  a  policeman  on  the  hunt  for 
suspicious  characters  at  night,  politely  ad- 
vised her  to  '  move  on ' — otherwise,  to  go  to 
bed  before  the  lights  had  to  be  put  out. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  chief  mate,  whose  name  was  Morley, 
and  who,  unhke  his  grim  commander,  was 
what  is  called  a  ladies'  man — so  much  so, 
indeed,  that  Captain  Kennedy  found  it  ex- 
pedient to  keep  a  casual  eye  upon  him,  lest  he 
should  fail  in  that  discretion  which  is  the 
better  part  of  so  many  things  besides  valour 
— remained  to  chat  with  Katherine  for  a  few 
minutes,  when  she  had  explained  her  situa- 
tion to  him.  He  was  surprised  to  learn  that 
Mrs.  Brodie  and  the  Dutchman  were  still 
absent,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  they 
intended  to  staj^  with  their  friends  till  morn- 
ing. '  In  which  case  they  will  be  left  behind,' 
he  said.  '  The  captain  is  going  to  sleep  on 
board,  so  as  to  get  oft'  at  daybreak.  You  had 
better  go  to  bed.   Miss  Knowles,  and  take 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  241 

the  child  with  you.  You  will  have  her  on 
your  hands  till  we  get  to  Plymouth — see  if 
you  won't.' 

It  looked  like  it.  Ten  o'clock  at  night  and 
no  moon,  with  a  wind  that  made  the  rigging 
hum  and  the  flag  at  the  masthead  rattle  like 
a  continuous  cracking  of  stockwhips  ;  with 
that  hush  of  night  on  river  and  town,  whore 
the  liofhts  twinkled  remotelv  like  a  band  of 
jewels  ;  with  that  heave  in  the  flowing  tide 
and  that  scatter  of  cold  spray,  to  make  the 
dark  passage  between  ship  and  shore  un- 
comfortable. Katherine  stiflly  rose  from  her 
chair  to  carry  the  child  below,  indignant 
with  the  neglectful  mother,  but  not  wholly 
displeased  with  the  prospect  of  further 
exercise  for  her  own  maternal  instincts, 
which  were  exceptionally  strong. 

But  at  that  moment  they  heard  the  dip 
of  oars,  and  a  moment  later  a  little  scream, 
followed  by  a  gay  laugh.  *  There  they  are,' 
said  the  chief  mate,  and  he  went  down  the 
poo]:)  ladder  to  receive  the  wanderers. 

'  You  are  a  nice  young  man,'  was  his 
greeting  to  Van  der  Veen,  as  that  gentleman 

VOL.  I.  16 


242  NOT    ALL    IN    VAFN. 

came  up  over  the  side,  after  paying  the 
waterman — a  privilege  that  Mrs.  Brodie  did 
not  attempt  to  dispute  or  share.  And  the 
Dutchman  answered,  in  tones  of  earnest 
sincerity,   '  It — vos — not — me.' 

Mrs.  Brodie  rushed  into  the  cuddy  from 
the  main  deck,  and  met  Katherine  Knowles 
at  the  foot  of  the  companion  stairs.  '  What !' 
she  cried,  as  she  saw"  Elvira's  hat  and  feathers 
dangling  from  the  bundle  in  the  girl's  arms, 
'  is  that  child  not  gone  to  bed  yet  ?' 

'  She  fell  asleep  upstairs,  and  I  would  not 
disturb  her,'  said  Katherine.  '  May  I  carry 
her  into  your  cabin  and  lay  her  down  ?' 

'  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  3'ou,'  the  tender 
mother  rejoined  ;  '  that  is  not  necessarj^— 
she  can  walk  quite  well.  Come,  Elvira,  wake 
up  !'  and  she  set  the  child,  limp  and  dazed, 
upon  her  feet,  and  shook  her.  '  Come,  we 
must  make  haste  or  we  shall  be  left  in  the. 
dark.  I  have  not  done  my  unpacking  yet,' 
she  added,  looking  at  Katherine  with  a  laugh. 

'  That  is  a  pity,'  said  the  girl,  '  for  we  are 
likely  to  be  in  rough  water  before  you  are 
up,  and  then  you  may  find  it  difficult.' 


\ 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  243 

'  Oh,  I  shall  do  what  I  want  to  do  to- 
night. I  don't  care  for  their  regulations — 
they  won't  scold  me.  I  can  always  make 
them  let  me  do  what  I  like.' 

With  that  Mrs.  Brodie  retired  to  her 
cabin,  which  was  close  by,  driving  her  stag- 
gering child  before  her ;  and  Katherine 
hastened  to  hers,  that  was  nearly  opposite. 

She  expected  to  find  it  dark  and  silent, 
orderly  as  she  had  left  it,  but,  instead,  it  was 
lighted  by  her  own  bracket  lamp,  and 
crowded  to  an  extent  that  seemed  to  preclude 
the  possibility  of  getting  into  it.  Bundles 
and  boxes  and  unsavoury,  smart  clothes 
overflowed  both  bunks  as  well  as  the  floor, 
and  an  enormous  woman,  compared  with 
whom  Mrs.  Brodie  was  quite  sylph-like, 
stood  in  the  midst  of  them,  loosening 
the  laces  of  her  vast  and  greasy  stays. 
Katherine  started  back,  under  the  mo- 
mentarv  impression  that  she  had  opened 
the  wrong  door  ;  then  she  realised  the  fact 
that  this  was  her  co-tenant  of  the  cabin, 
Mrs.  Bellamy.  With  the  child  in  her  arms, 
and    afraid   to  move  lest  she  should  bo  dis- 


2  44  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

turbed,  the  girl  had  not  seen  the  new 
arrivals  closely.  She  had  watched  each  boat 
put  off  from  the  pier  while  the  daylight 
lasted,  and  marked  the  sex  and  number  of  its 
occujDants  as  it  danced  over  the  little  waves 
that  ran  so  merrilv  with  the  wind  ;  but  as 
each  had  come  alono-side  it  had  been  hidden 
from  her,  and  the  peo^^le  stepping  over  the 
gangway  had  only  shown  their  bobbing 
heads  for  a  minute  before  disappearing  into 
the  cuddy  beneath  her  through  its  front 
doors.  And  the  passengers'  friends  had 
lingered  for  the  most  part,  not  putting  oft* 
for  shore  till  all  was  vaofue  in  the  mists  of 
night,  and  it  was  impossible  to  discover 
.  which  was  which.  Thus  she  had  not  re- 
garded the  arrival  of  her  cabin  companion, 
whose  presence  was  as  unwelcome  as  it  was 
unexpected. 

For  it  was  evident  at  the  first  glance  that 
Mrs.  Bellamy  was  not  only  a  coarse,  di- 
shevelled woman,  but  a  slightly  tipsy  one  as 
well,  and  the  appearance  of  her  little  eyes,  her 
baggy  cheeks,  her  loose  mouth,  and  the  shape- 
less mass  of  pulp  that  she  called  her  figure, 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  245 

seemed  to  indicate  that  such  a  condition  was 
not  unusual.  She  had  put  off  a  once  hand- 
some silk  dress,  and  a  pair  of  diamond-studded 
ear-pendants  still  flanked  her  triple  chin,  but 
a  bath  did  not  seem  to  be  numbered  amongst 
her  toilet  luxuries,  and  her  frowsy  black  hair 
was  a  terror  to  think  of.  Altogether,  she 
was  about  the  last  person  that  a  girl  of 
refinement  would  choose  to  go  to  bed  with. 

'  Come  in,  my  dear,  come  in,'  she  called 
out  hospitably.  '  You've  [)aid  your  money 
as  well  as  me,  and  you've  just  as  nmch  right 
to  it.  Fair  play's  a  jewel,  I  say — that's  the 
sort  I  am.  You'll  find  me  staunch  to  the 
last — no  one  ever  knew  Martha  Bellamy  to 
fail  a  friend.  Come  in — you  needn't  mind 
me  ;  I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  mother.' 
She  reeled  over  Katherine's  bed  to  gather 
u])  such  of  her  belongings  as  littered  and 
defiled  it,  and  then  plunged  into  the  heap 
upon  her  own  for  a  hidden  brandy  bottle  and 
a  glass  that  had  evidently  been  used  many 
times  since  it  was  washed  last.  *  Here,'  she 
said  thickly,  '  have  a  little  drop  to  warm  you 
before  you  go  to  bed.      I  never  take  it  my- 


246  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

self,  except  I'm  ill,  but  it's  very  good  to  keep 
the  cold  out.  Do,  now — I've  got  plenty 
more.' 

Katherine  thanked  her  and  said  she  never 
touched  spirits  and  didn't  like  them. 

*  No  more  do  I,'  said  Mrs.  Bellamy ;  '  but 
I've  such  a  weak  stomach,  and  the  sea  do 
upset  me  so ' 

She  poured  a  good  dose  into  the  dirt}" 
tumbler  and  tossed  it  off. 

Poor  Katherine  stood  in  the  doorway, 
aghast  at  the  prospect  before  her.  For  a 
moment  she  did  not  know  what  to  do,  as  it 
was  obviously  impossible  to  undress  side  by 
side  with  this  huge  and  disgusting  person, 
unless  she  could  kneel  in  her  bunk  to  do  it. 

'  I  think,'  she  said  hesitatingly,  '  I  will 
wait  until  you  are  into  bed — it  will  give 
you  more  room — if  you  will  kindly  be  as 
quick  as  you  can,  because  it  is  past  the 
time  for  putting  the  lamps  out.' 

Mrs.  Bellamy  again  begged  that  no  form 
and  ceremon}'  might  be  observed  with  her, 
who  was  old  enough  to  be  Katherine's 
mother,  and  had  never  been  known  to  fail 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  247 

a  friend  ;  but  Katherine  persisted  in  leaving 
her  to  the  privaey  she  would  have  given  so 
much  to  secure  for  herself,  and  retreated 
to  the  saloon,  which  was  now  empty,  and 
lighted  very  dimly  by  a  single  turned-down 
lamp.  Here  she  took  a  seat  at  the  end  of 
the  table  nearest  to  her  door,  and  waited 
until  she  considered  Mrs.  Bellamy  had  had 
time  to  put  herself  to  bed. 

While  she  waited  Captain  Kennedy 
returned  from  the  shore,  and  entering  the 
cuddy  from  the  main  deck,  and  proceeding 
to  his  cabin  at  the  other  end  for  the  precious 
nig-ht  *  in  '  that  misfht  be  his  last  for  some 
time,  he  passed  Katherine  as  she  sat,  and 
asked  her,  rather  peremptorily,  what  she 
was  doing. 

She  explained  briefly,  but  her  explanation 
would  not  have  satisfied  him  had  he  not 
heard  something  of  Mrs.  Bellamy  from  the 
officer  on  deck. 

'  What,  is  that  woman  with  you  ?'  he 
exclaimed,  and  his  blunt  speech  took  a 
sympathetic  tone.  '  They  tell  me  she  is 
a    little    festive  —  a    valedictory    supper,   I 


248  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

suppose.  She'll  soon  get  over  that.  No 
liquors  allowed  in  the  cabins,  you  know, 
and  I  can  give  the  steward  a  hint  if  we 
find  it  necessary.'  He  held  out  his  great, 
strong  brown  hand.  '  Get  to  bed.  Miss 
Knowles,  get  to  bed  ;  I  don't  like  the  rules 
to  be  broken,  and  one  has  to  put  up  with 
little  discomforts  on  board  ship,  you  know.' 

She  rose  at  once  and  said  sfood-nio-ht, 
and  he  passed  on  to  his  cabin.  At  the 
door,  however,  he  paused,  and,  turning,  said 
to  her  : 

'  If  you  should  have  any  real  annoyance, 
of  course  you  must  let  me  know.  Tap  on 
the  partition — I  shall  hear  3^ou.' 

When  he  was  gone  she  left  the  cuddy, 
but  lingered  awhile  in  the  passage  betw^een 
her  cabin  and  that  of  Miss  Blake — wishinof 
it  had  been  her  luck  to  be  paired  with  that 
gentle  maiden  lady  ;  then  she  tapped  at 
her  own  door,  and  entered  softly.  Mrs. 
Bellamy  was  in  bed,  and  already  dropping 
into  a  heavy  sleep.  The  fumes  of  spirits 
and  of  frowsy  clothing  filled  the  tiny 
chamber   that  had   been    so   airy  and    fresh 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  249 

till  now  ;  the  neck  of  the  brandy  bottle 
peeped  out  of  the  bedclothes  witliin  a  few 
inches  of  its  owner's  open  mouth.  By  the 
time  the  girl  was  ready  for  such  rest  as 
might  be  procurable  under  the  circum- 
stances, that  mouth  and  the  nose  above  it 
were  emitting  snores  that  were  like  the 
blasts  of  a  rusty  trumpet,  interspersed  with 
choking  gurgles  as  of  a  person  being  drowned 
or  strangled. 

'  She  will  keep  him  awake,'  thought 
Katherine,  looking  anxiously  at  the  bulk- 
head behind  which  the  skip})er  had  already 
abandoned  himself  to  repose.  She  little 
knew  what  a  sailor  could  sleep  through, 
when  he  had  leave  to  sleep.  Till  he 
roused  up  at  the  summons  of  the  pilot  he 
was  entirely  oblivious  of  Mrs.  Bellamy's 
snores,  and  all  sublunary  matters.  So,  for 
some  hours,  was  Katherine  herself  Having 
gently  transferred  the  brandy  bottle  to  the 
foot  of  her  companion's  bed,  and  taken  a 
wistful  look  at  the  starry  river  through  the 
little  round  window,  which  she  longed  to 
open,    but    dared    not,    lest     it     should     be 


250  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

against  the  rules,  she  said  to  herself  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  sleep,  and  straight- 
way slept  like  a  day-old  baby. 

Very  early  in  the  morning — after  the 
rainy  dawn  had  broken,  but  hours  before 
breakfast- time — she  woke  from  this  welcome 
insensibility  to  feel  the  ship  moving  through 
the  choppy  water,  and  to  hear  Mrs.  Bellamy 
groaning  in  the  most  dreadful  manner. 

'  Oh,  I  am  so  bad — I  am  so  bad  !  Oh, 
dear  ;  oh,  dear  !  Oh,  do  give  me  a  drop 
o'  brandy,  there's  a  good  soul  I  I  can't 
stand  this  heavy  sea,  with  my  weak 
stomach  !' 

'  We  are  not  near  the  sea  yet,'  said 
Katherine  soothingly,  *  and  the  ship  is 
quite  steady.  If  you  don't  think  a  bout  it, 
you  won't  feel  ill.  Try  to  sleep  while  you 
can — before  it  gets  really  rough.' 

'  I  can't  sleep  !  Give  me  some  brandy  !' 
wailed  Mrs.  Bellamy.  '  Do,  my  blessed 
creature,  get  the  bottle  quick — you  see  I 
can't  lift  a  hand  to  help  myself  What 
have  you  done  with  my  brandy  ?' 

Katherine  still  remonstrated,  recommend- 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  251 

ing  courage  and  repose  as  more  efficacious 
than  brandy  ;  upon  which  the  wretched 
woman  tumbled  desperately  out  of  bed  in 
search  of  the  latter  remedy.  Being  on  her 
feet,  and  more  sensible  of  the  floating 
motion  than  when  on  her  back,  her  in- 
disposition rapidly  increased,  and  she 
abandoned  all  attempt  at  self-control  and 
decency.  Her  companion,  shuddering  with 
disgust,  had  to  go  to  her  assistance  as  she 
rolled  and  groaned  upon  the  floor  ;  the 
brandy  was  spilt  upon  silk  dress  and  carpet, 

the 

But  we  won't  go  into  particulars.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  it  was  a  bad  case  of  sea-sick- 
ness, and  that  Katherine,  with  all  her 
practical  experience  of  the  unpleasant  duties 
of  a  nurse,  had  a  worse  time  of  it  in  that 
capacity  than  she  had  ever  known.  As  the 
hours  wore  on,  and  the  swell  of  the  open 
Channel,  brought  up  strongly  by  yesterda^'-'s 
wind,  became  more  and  more  evidently  near, 
Mrs.  Bellamy's  sufferings  and  lamentations, 
and  the  general  offensiveness  of  the  situa- 
tion, grew  almost  insupportable  to  the   poor 


252  NOT   ALL    IN    VAIN. 

girl,  who,  few  and  modest  as  were  her  needs, 
had  always  reckoned  the  most  delicate  cleanli- 
ness of  person  and  surroundings  as  the  chief 
of  them. 

*  If  I  had  taken  a  steerage  passage  I 
could  not  be  worse  oflf,'  she  sighed  to  her- 
self, with  her  face  against  the  ship's  side,  to 
which  she  almost  clung  in  her  impulse  to 
get  as  far  from  Mrs.  Bellamy  as  possible. 
She  had  done  what  she  could  for  that  un- 
fortunate woman,  and,  having  opened  the 
scuttle  for  fresh  air,  lay  in  her  own  bunk, 
longing  for  a  steward  to  bring  her  flat- 
bottomed  can  of  morning  water,  that  she 
might  wash  her  face  and  hands  and  get 
away  from  this  chamber  of  horrors.  Bath- 
rooms were  not ;  the  gentlemen  were  hosed 
on  deck  at  an  early  hour,  and  the  ladies  did 
as  they  could  with  their  own  little  tubs 
and  basins,  so  that  no  escape  in  that  direc- 
tion was  possible  ;  and  the  tin  bath  under 
the  bed,  that  had  come  on  board  as  a  box 
of  clothes,  was  useless  for  the  present. 

'  Oh,  do  fetch  the  doctor  !'  groaned  Mrs. 
Bellamy,    between    her    noisier    paroxysms. 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  253 

*  Oh,  do  give  me  a  drop  of  brandy  !  Oh,  if 
I  ever  hve  to  get  back  to  Austraha  you 
won't  catch  me  Q^oinof  to  sea  aofain  !  O — o 
— oh  !'  And  she  burst  into  a  wild  roar  that 
might  have  been  heard  at  the  other  end  of 
the  ship. 

At  the  earUest  possible  moment  Katherine 
scrambled  into  her  clothes  and  went  in  search 
of  the  doctor, 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

Some  young  under- stewards  were  preparing 
the  cuddy  table  for  breakfast  under  the 
supervision  of  their  chief,  and  Katherine 
was  about  to  inquire  of  one  of  them  the 
doctor's  whereabouts,  when  the  captain  came 
down  the  companion  hatch  and  intercepted 
her.  She  was  annoyed  to  find  herself 
always  getting  in  his  way,  and  drew  back 
without  looking  at  him  to  let  him  pass  ; 
but  when  his  quick  eye  fell  upon  her  quiet, 
unsmiling  face — a  restful  contrast  to  Mrs. 
Brodie's — he  bade  her  a  pleasant  good- 
morning  and  asked  her  how  she  did.  And 
when  she  replied,  '  Quite  well,  thank  you,' 
he  congratulated  her  on  the  circumstance, 
which  he  said  was  rather  surprising,  con- 
sidering the  provocation  to  be  otherwise 
which  she  must  have  had.      '  That  woman  ' 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  255 

— indicating  Mrs.  Bellani}'  with  a  thumb 
over  his  shoulder — '  is  enough  to  make  a 
whole  ship's  company  sea-sick.  Can't  you 
persuade  her  to  make  a  little  less  row^  about 
it?' 

'  She  is  very  ill,'  said  Katherine.  '  I  am 
looking  for  the  doctor  to  see  if  he  can  do 
anything  for  her.' 

'  Oh,  the  doctor's  no  use  ;  besides,  he's 
better  employed.  A  case  of  consumption — 
hemorrhage.'  As  he  spoke,  Mrs.  Bellamy's 
distracting  moans  and  cries  culminated  in 
another  paroxysm,  and  a  pitiful  cry  for 
*  M'  dear,'  to  which  he  replied  by  summoning 
a  brawny  stewardess,  and  ordering  Katherine 
to  go  up  on  deck  and  get  an  ap]jetite  for 
breakfast — which  she  proceeded  to  do  witli 
great  alacrity,  and  without  risking  recapture 
at  the  hands  of  her  tormentor  by  fetching 
hat  or  shawl. 

But  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  com- 
panion-rail she  was  arrested  by  the  solemn 
face  of  Elvira  Brodie,  peering  from  beliind 
the  red  curtain  that  masked  her  passage. 

'  Oh,  good-morning,  dear,'  the  girl  called 


256  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

brightly,  stretching  her  right  hand  towards 
the  child.  '  Are  you  dressed  already  ? 
Then  come  wp  on  deck  with  nie,  and  we'll 
have  a  little  w^alk  too^ether.' 

Elvira  stole  out  cautiously,  looking  with 
fearful  eyes  after  the  captain  as  he  dis- 
appeared towards  his  cabin  under  the  stairs. 
She  was  now  dressed  in  pink  merino,  which 
was  w^arm  and  comfoi'table,  but  her  frock 
was  not  hooked,  nor  her  petticoats  fastened 
under  it. 

*  Please,  Miss  Knowles,  I  want  the 
doctor,'  she  said,  as  Katherine  turned  her 
round  to  repair  the  deficiencies. 

*  What,  the  doctor  again  !  Is  your 
mother  ill,  too  ?' 

Elvira  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said  gravely  : 

'  She's  not  my  mother.' 

'  Not  your  mother  ?'  echoed  Katherine. 
'  Well,  now,  that's  just  exactly  what  I 
thought.  I  felt  all  along  that  she  couldn't 
be  your  real  mother.' 

'  She's  my  mar-r,'  said  Elvira.  Dis- 
resrardino-  the  lauo^h  with  which  this  state- 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  2r>7 

meat  was  received,  she  continued  rejirov- 
ingly — '  It's  only  vulgar  children  that  say 
**  mother."      I'm  a  young  lady.' 

'  Oh,  you  poor,  pathetic  little  soul  !' 
cried  Katherine,  kissing  her.  '  Well,  then, 
go  and  tell  your  mamma  that  the  doctor 
is  with  a  sick  gentleman,  and  ask  her  if 
I  can  do  anything  for  her.' 

Elvira  went,  and,  returning,  invited  her 
friend  to  Mrs.  Brodie's  cabin — a  most  orna- 
mental a})artment,  befrilled  and  beribboned 
in  the  gayest  manner,  and  to  an  extent  that 
considerably  interfered  with  the  passage  of 
such  fresh  air  as  might  happen  to  come  that 
way.  Its  occupant  lay  in  her  bunk,  wearing 
a  gorgeous  nightgown,  her  hands  covered 
with  rings,  and  her  hair  dressed  (and 
evidently  freshly  dressed)  in  braided  coronet 
and  padded  chignon,  as  it  had  appeared 
yesterday.  She  said  she  was  not  actually 
sick  yet,  but  felt  it  coming  on  badly,  and 
she  believed  the  doctor  could  give  her  some- 
thino-  to  check  it.      It  was  his  business  as  a 

o 

ship's  doctor  and  a  gentleman — and  she  was 
VOL.  I.  17 


2f)8  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

sure  by  the  look  of  him  that  he  ivas  a 
gentleman — to  attend  to  ladies  first. 

'  Would  you,  my  dear  Miss  Knowles,  be 
so  very  kind  as  to  find  him  and  ask  him 
from  me — with  my  compliments,  as  a  special 
favour — to  come  and  see  me  for  just  one 
minute?'  she  pleaded  plaintively,  in  her  high- 
pitched  voice. 

Katherine  said  she  would  do  her  best  to 
find  him,  and  asked  for  Elvira's  hat,  that 
she  might  afterwards  take  the  child  on  deck 
with  her  ;  but  Mrs.  Brodie  sharply  insisted 
on  keeping  her  daughter  below,  that  she 
might  have  somebody  to  wait  upon  her. 
She  did  not  want  her  in  the  cabin,  but 
ordered  her  to  sit  in  the  cuddy  near  by, 
in  readiness  to  be  called  when  needed. 
Elvira  said,  *  Yes,  mar,'  and,  taking  a  seat 
at  the  half- furnished  breakfast -table,  sat 
there  with  solemn  patience,  like  a  small 
automaton.  Katherine  chanced  to  meet 
the  doctor  in  the  saloon,  and  delivered  Mrs. 
Brodie's  message  to  that  good-looking  and 
apparently  zealous  youth. 

*  Certainly  —  with      pleasure  —  in     one 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  259 

moment,'  he  replied.  *  The  captain  has 
asked  me  to  look  at  another  case  first — 
a  rather  bad  one  that  the  stewardess  has 
reported.' 

'  Oh,  Mrs.  Bellamy,'  said  Katherine  ; 
and  with  a  sense  of  relief  at  being  rid 
of  all  further  responsibility  she  went  up- 
stairs. 

It  was  a  morning  of  mornings,  and  its 
sudden,  airy  beauty  was  doubly  exhilarating 
after  the  wretched  imprisonment  of  the 
night.  The  rain  had  cleared  off  and  the 
sun  was  shining,  and  a  wild  wind  was 
sweeping  wave  and  cloud  before  it,  and  the 
horizon  was  tilting  in  several  directions. 
Such  a  sense  of  rushing  life  and  exulting 
freedom  came  to  her,  as  she  paced  the 
buoyant  deck  and  looked  round  upon  sky 
and  sea — for  it  was  sea  now,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  though  the  tug  was  still 
floundering  ahead  and  the  pilot  watching 
from  the  poop  forward — that  she  could  not 
but  rejoice  in  her  human  existence,  all  its 
sorrows  notwithstanding.  Sea -sick  !  She 
had   never   felt  less  conscious  of  her   body 


260  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

than  now,  as  she  bathed  in  the  infinite  and 
exquisite  salt  air. 

In  a  little  while  the  captain  emerged 
from  the  companion-hatch,  and  his  obser- 
vant eyes,  lighting  upon  her  sharply-outlined 
figure,  had  a  sudden  perception  of  its  un- 
common strength  and  shapeliness.  It  was 
a  pleasure,  he  said  to  himself,  to  see  a 
woman  with  such  a  back  and  such  a 
carriage,  and  such  a  splendid  look  of  health, 
and  he  regarded  her  with  distinct  satisfac- 
tion for  fully  half  a  minute.  Then  he 
walked  towards  her,  and  said  abruptly  : 

'  Miss  Knowles,  I  find  that  person  in 
your  cabin  is  not  merely  sea-sick ;  she's 
drunk.  She's  been  drinking  from  a  private 
bottle.' 

'  She  has,'  said  Katherine  ;  '  but  I 
couldn't  help  it.' 

*  We'll  help  it  in  future  ;  I'll  see  to  that. 
But  I'd  no  idea  she  was  such  a  pig  of  a 
creature.  You  must  have  had  a  horrible 
night  of  it.' 

'  It  was  not  pleasant.  But  I  suppose 
these   things  must   happen   on  board   ship  ; 


NOT    ALL    IN    V^AIN.  261 

one  must  take  one's  luck.      I  am  better  able 
to  bear  it  than  a  delicate  woman.' 

'  I  am  not  going  to  allow  you  to  bear 
it  any  longer,'  said  he,  and  he  looked  at  her 
consideringly  as  he  turned  the  matter  over 
in  his  mind.  '  We  have  one  cabin  dis- 
engaged, and  if  we  get  more  passengers 
than  we  expect  at  Ph'mouth — which  is  not 
likely — we  can  send  the  chief  mate  or  the 
doctor,  or  both  of  them,  below  ;  and  the 
doctor  shall  tell  her  that  she  can't  stand  the 
motion  aft,  and  we'll  move  her  out  after 
breakfast.' 

*  Had  I  not  better  move  V 

*  No  ;  I  prefer  to  keep  you  as  a  neigh- 
bour. Besides,  she'll  be  better  off  in  the 
other  place,  as  well  as  we.  She  really 
won't  feel  the  motion  half  as  much,  and 
she  can  wallow  there  to  her  heart's  content 
without  annoying  decent  people,  except  the 
doctor,  and  he  don't  matter.  Her  door  will 
open  into  the  same  passage  as  his,  so  he 
can  keep  an  eye  on  her.' 

'  Poor  doctor  !' 

The      captain      shrugged     his     shoulders 


262  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

slightly  ;  he  did  not  condescend  to  con- 
sider the  convenience  of  that  charminof 
youth. 

The  steward's  great  bell  summoned  the 
cabin  company  to  breakfast,  and,  when  all 
had  assembled,  Katherine  found  herself  the 
only  lady  at  table,  with  the  exception  of 
Elvira,  whom  she  invited  to  sit  beside  her. 
The  rest  were  sea-sick  in  their  cabins,  and 
several  of  the  gentlemen  were  in  a  similar 
case.  Mr.  Barrett  was  still  able  to  enjoy 
beefsteak  and  fried  sausasfes,  and  his  cabin 
mate,  the  pompous  clergyman,  forgot  to 
feel  unwell  in  the  pleasurable  excitement  of 
making  the  acquaintance  of  another  clergy- 
man, a  Mr.  Goodfellow,  who  had  come  on 
board  overnight,  and  was  bound  for  Australia 
as  a  missionary  to  a  heathen  land.  He  was 
a  pale  and  spare  young  man,  in  a  collar  that 
fastened  at  the  back  of  his  neck  and  a  waist- 
coat that  buttoned  under  his  arm — articles 
that  in  those  days  were  the  badge  of  an 
extreme  sacerdotalism,  especially  when  a 
little  gold  cross  on  a  plain  guard  dangled 
on     the     surface    of  the    latter,    as    in    the 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  263 

present  case.  A  High  Churchman  Mr. 
Goodfellow  stood  confessed,  whereas  Mr. 
Parker's  vest  buttons  and  necktie  pro- 
claimed him  evangehcal  ;  but  this  difference 
was  ignored  at  present,  and  they  fraternized 
across  the  table  on  the  common  ground  of 
their  profession  with  an  edifying  cordiaUty. 
Then  there  was  a  devoted  husband — sup- 
posed to  be  a  bridegroom — who  spent  all 
his  breakfast-time  in  rushing  to  and  from 
his  invisible  wife,  carrying  portions  of  every 
dish  on  the  table  in  turn,  and  bringing  them 
back  untasted.  Most  of  these  persons 
looked  at  Katherine  in  a  way  that,  she  said, 
made  her  ashamed  of  feeling  so  well  and 
hungry. 

*  Why  is  it,  Elvira,  that  you  and  I  are 
not  invalids  too  V  she  said,  as  she  gave  the 
child  a  second  helping  of  fried  fish. 

Elvira  looked  up,  and  answered  gravely  : 

'  Ma  said  I  wasn't  to  be  ill.' 

The  captain  sputtered,  and  ejaculated  : 

*  What  an  exemplary  daughter !  And 
that's    why    you're    well     and    hearty,    eh  ? 


264  xVOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

What  do  you  suppose  ma  would  have  done 
to  you  if  you  had  disobeyed  her  V 

'  Slapped  me,'  said  Elvira. 

'  I  do  believe  she  would,'  he  returned, 
with  a  roar  of  laughter, 

'  Hush — sh  !'  breathed  Katherine,  look- 
ing- down. 

He  took  this  remonstrance  in  good  part, 
though  he  was  the  ship's  commander,  and 
monarch  of  all  he  surveyed. 

'  T  should  like,'  he  returned  in  an  under- 
tone, '  to  put  her  through  a  little  catechism. 
She's  naturally  a  candid  child,  and  the  result 
would  be  most  interesting.' 

Shortly  after  this  he  went  on  deck,  for  it 
was  time  to  part  with  the  tug,  and  spread 
all  the  white  wings  that  were  now  folded  to 
the  splendid  Channel  breeze.  And  before 
the  ship  began  to  tumble  and  reel  under  the 
pressure  of  sail  more  uncomfortably  than 
she  did  already,  the  doctor  proposed  to 
move  Mrs.  Bellamy  —  up  to  the  deck,  if 
she  would  go,  and  if  not,  to  her  new  cabin. 
He   asked    Katherine    to   help   him.      '  She 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  2G5 

calls  for  you,'  he  said,  '  and  the  stewardess 
cannot  manage  her  at  all.' 

When  they  entered  the  cabin  together, 
Mrs.  Bellamy  was  discovered  in  tears,  alter- 
nately bewailing  her  miserable  condition  and 
vehemently  abusing  the  stewardess,  who 
stood,  with  arms  akimbo,  looking  calmly 
down  upon  her.  The  stewardess,  it  appeared, 
had  confiscated  the  medical  comforts  and 
inflexibly  refused  to  restore  them.  Appeals 
to  her  feelings  as  a  woman  and  a  mother,  and 
bribes  of  various  kinds,  had  been  tried  in  vain, 
and  she  was  now  violently  threatened  with 
the  loss  of  her  situation  and  character  and 
other  pains  and  penalties. 

*  How  dare  you  insult  a  lady  who  has  paid 
for  her  passage  and  is  well  enough  off  to  buy 
up  the  whole  lot  of  you  V  poor  Mrs.  Bellamy 
demanded  in  gas])s,  between  her  paroxysms 
of  helpless  suffering.  *  Am  I  to  die  in  the 
night,  when  my  flints  come  on  ?  But  T 
know  what  you  women  are — you  only  want 
to  drink  it  yourself  And  I  was  going  to 
give  you  a  five-pound  note  if  you  had  treated 
me  properly.      Oh  dear  !      Oh    dear  !      And 


260  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

there  you  stand,  and  don't  care  if  I'm  torn 
to  pieces.  I'll  tell  the  captain  what  sort  of 
stewardess  he's  got  to  wait  on  first-class  ladies, 
and  if  he  doesn't  pack  you  off,  I'll  complain 
to  the  owners,  and  they'll  make  him.  They 
know  they  won't  get  the  trade  if  their  pas- 
sengers are  treated  this  way —  ugh  —  ah  ! 
Where's  that  dear  young  lady  gone  to  ?  She 
won't  stand  by  and  see  a  fellow-creature  die 
before  her  eyes,  and  not  lift  a  hand  to  help 
her.' 

Despite  her  repugnance,  Katherine  hast- 
ened forward  to  hold  the  poor  creature's 
head  and  otherwise  soothe  her  perturbation. 
'  You  will  soon  be  better,'  said  the  girl  en- 
couragingly ;  '  the  doctor  and  the  captain 
think  it  is  the  motion  at  this  end  of  the  ship 
that  makes  you  so  ill,  and  they  are  going  to 
give  you  another  cabin  in  the  middle  —  a 
nicer  one,  all  to  yourself — tw^o  whole  berths 
for  the  price  of  one ' 

'  I  won't  go  into  another  cabin — I  won't 
go  away  from  you  !'  ^[rs.  Bellamy  burst  out, 
attempting  an  embrace.  '  You're  my  only 
friend,  and  I'll  never  leave  you.' 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  267 

*  I  will  come  and  see  you,'  said  Katherine, 
*  and  you  won't  be  ill  when  you  are  nearer 
the  middle  of  the  ship.  You  will  be  able 
to  walk  about  and  enjoy  yourself  like  other 
people.' 

*  But  if  I'm  bad  in  the  niofht,  what  then  ? 
I  shan't  have  my  little  drop  by  me — it's  only 
medicine,  but  she  won't  let  me  have  it — 
and  how  am  I  to  sfet  at  the  steward  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  ?  I  might  die,  with 
nobody  to  help  me.  That's  what  they  want,' 
concluded  the  victim,  with  a  burst  of  tears. 

'  Oh  no  ;  it's  only  that  they  must  keep  to 
the  regulations,  you  know.  It  would  never 
do  for  us. all  to  have  our  stores  in  our  own 
cabins,  and  they  can't  make  distinctions 
between  us.  And  if  you  should  really  be  ill 
in  the  night,  why,  the  doctor  will  be  close 
beside  you — he  will  give  you  what  you  want.' 
She  looked  at  the  doctor  as  she  spoke,  and 
the  handsome  youth  returned  her  glance 
reproachfully. 

Then  he  retired  for  a  few  minutes,  while 
the  two  nurses  hauled  Mrs.  Bellamy  from 
her  bed,   and  provisionally   clothed    her — a 


268  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

task  only  to  be  accomplished  by  an  extreme 
exercise  of  strength  and  hard  hearted  resolu- 
tion ;  and,  surgeon  and  steward  coming  to 
their  aid  when  all  was  ready,  the  huge 
woman,  helpless  and  groaning,  was  conveyed 
through  the  cuddy  to  her  new  abode.  There 
the  stewardess,  who  could  not  afford  to  throw 
away  five- pound  notes,  made  her  peace  with 
the  invalid,  and  took  command  of  the  situa- 
tion generally  ;  she  had  the  effects  of  her 
charge  transferred,  and  bestowed  conveniently 
around  her,  and,  relenting,  by  official  per- 
mission administered  a  little  dose  of  brandy, 
with  which  the  doctor  had  mixed  some 
soothino'  druo:.  Once  more  Katherine  felt 
herself  free,  and  hastened  to  her  cabin  for 
her  jacket  and  hat.  And  once  more  Elvu'a 
intercepted  her. 

*  Ma  wants  the  doctor,'   said   the  solemn 
child. 

*  But  she  has  had  the  doctor  once,'  Kathe- 
rine answered  impatiently. 

'  She  wants  him  again,'  Elvira  insisted. 
'  Oh,  well,  just  you  go  and  tell  her  to  get 
some  clothes  on  and  come  up  on  deck,'  said 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  269 

Katherine  hard-heartedly.  '  That  will  do 
her  more  good  than  the  doctor.' 

She  ran  upstairs  without  waiting  for  a 
reply.  And  Elvira  continued  to  stand  like 
a  sentinel  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  and  to 
announce  to  all  and  sundry  that  ma  wanted 
the  doctor,   unheeded. 

Such  a  sea  morning-  it  was  !  No  such 
mornings  ever  break  on  land.  The  pure  blue 
sky,  with  wind}',  white  clouds  streaming 
over  it  like  celestial  fleets  in  full  sail  ;  the 
luminous  sheen  of  transparent  water,  swelling 
and  swirling  and  breaking  into  foam  and  spray 
as  the  ship  stooped  and  rose  to  the  Channel 
surges  like  an  old-fashioned  lady  curtseying  in 
a  minuet  ;  the  gallant  breeze,  that  seemed  to 
sweep  the  world,  the  very  breath  of  life  and 
liberty  and  joy,  were  indeed  medicines  that 
no  doctor's  potion  could  rival,  both  for  body 
and  soul.  The  tug  had  just  cast  off,  and 
was  tossing  astern,  like  a  child's  toy,  in  the 
short  but  heavy  seas  ;  and  all  hands  were 
making  sail,  to  the  wild  music  of  their  own 
hoarse  but  mellow  throats.  The  shouts  of 
the   mates,  the   chantings  of  the    men,  the 


270  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

whip-like  rattle  of  the  unfolding  canvas,  the 
grinding  of  ropes  through  the  blocks,  and 
the  slapping  of  the  loose  ends  and  of  the 
sailors'  bare  feet  upon  the  decks,  mixed  with 
the  rushing  sound  of  wind  and  wave,  were 
an  ecstasy  to  listen  to,  so  full  of  the  spirit  of 
the  ocean  morning,  so  eloquent  of  the  fresh 
and  free  and  buoyant  ocean  life,  were  they. 

For  once  Katherine  felt  happy  without 
knowing  it,  without  intending  it— even 
though  her  father,  whom  she  had  loved 
better  than  her  life,  was  dead,  and  she  was 
a  stranger  among  strangers,  alone  in  the 
world.  Her  feet  hardly  seemed  to  touch 
the  floating  floor  as  she  marched  up  and 
down  ;  her  young  blood  danced  in  her  veins. 
She  had  stood  not  long  ago  on  the  sandhills 
of  her  own  Norfolk  coast,  between  Horsey 
Mere  and  the  sea,  and  tried  to  imagine  what 
it  would  feel  like  to  be  winoinar  over  that 
gray  plain  like  this :  but  the  reality  was 
better  than  the  anticipation — which  does  not 
often  happen  in  this  world. 

By-and-by  the  Huntingdonshire  dropped 
anchor  in  Plymouth  Sound,  and,  as  a  fair  wind 


NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN.  271 

blew  still,  Captain  Kennedy  only  waited  until 
the  whole  of  his  little  company  was  on  board 
to  set  oft'  ao-ain,  in  tow  of  another  tuof,  on 
his  long  flig-ht  across  the  world.  Katherine 
had  a  letter  from  Jim,  which  incidentally 
informed  her  that  Neil  was  busy  with  his 
herring-iishing  at  Yarmouth,  as  usual  ;  and, 
with  this  letter  in  her  pocket,  she  sat  peace- 
fully on  deck  to  watch  the  shore  and  the 
boats  of  the  embarking  passengers.  First 
came  a  family  party — that  squatter  family 
(Spooner  by  name)  to  whose  arrival  Mrs. 
Brodie  had  been  anxiousl}'^  looking  forward, 
anticipating  congenial  society  in  people  who 
travelled  with  a  maid — a  fat,  farmer-looking 
father,  a  fat  mother,  like  a  nice  old  cook,  and 
a  bouncing,  red-haired,  apple-cheeked  school- 
girl daughter — people  who  smiled  up  at  the 
row  of  faces  along  the  poop-railing  and  the 
main-deck  bulwark  as  at  so  many  old  friends. 
The  maid  was  there,  too — a  little  dark- eyed 
person,  smart  and  active,  who  was  destined 
to  work  more  havoc  with  her  charms  than 
all  the  first-class  ladies  put  together.  With 
this  party    also    came    Mr.    Terry,  a   neat, 


272  NOT    ALL    IN    VAIN. 

gray-haired  man,  with  a  watchful  eye  and  a 
serious  demeanour,  looking  the  character  he 
bore,  of  one  who  knew  his  way  about  the 
world,  and  exactly  the  direction  of  his  own 
interests. 

Then  arrived  Mrs.  Brodie's  major — Major 
Todd — another  stout  passenger,  with  a  big 
red  nose  and  a  ragged  black  moustache,  and 
an  air  not  quite  so  smart  and  trim  as  a  mili- 
tary man's  should  be. 

And  after  him  there  remained  but  one  to 
complete  the  list — the  gentleman  who  had 
taken  the  stern  cabin,  with  its  two  big 
windows  and  its  three-berth  space,  the  only 
passenger  possessed  of  a  private  apartment, 
except  Katherine  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  ;  and  he 
was  so  late  that  the  captain  threatened  to 
sail  without  him.  Being  a  more  experienced 
traveller  than  the  rest,  he  had  confidently 
reckoned  that  the  ship  would  not  start  at  its 
appointed  hour,  forgetting  to  take  account  of 
the  wind  ;  and  thus  he  came  near  to  being 
left  behind — in  which  case,  again,  the  course 
of  this  story  would  have  been  altogether 
different. 


NOT    ALL    IN     VAIN.  273 

But  he  came  at  last,  his  boatman  busthng 
through  the  water  in  response  to  urgent 
signals  from  the  shij)  ;  and  as  he  drew  near 
the  gangway  and  looked  uj^  at  the  faces  on 
the  poop,  Katherine  looked  down  on  his  and 
recognised  it,  with  surprise  and  joy,  as  that 
of  her  long-lost  friend  of  Christmas-time — 
Mr.  Forbes  Alexander. 


KM)     OF    VOL.     I. 


KfLLiJco  AXD  SOWS,  mnrmw,  ovildford. 


